Page 120 of Sing it, Sam

“Great guy,” Sam says, and motions for me to sit on his lap.

“Yeah, he really is.”

Sam wraps his arms around me as we listen to Shaun make love to his guitar with his hands, gifting us with his talent. After a couple of solos, a young girl with long dark hair joins him on stage, bringing with her a microphone on a stand. Her voice is sweet and melodic as she sings an acoustic version classic U2 song, “Beautiful Day”.

Sam slides his hand down my thigh and curls it over my knee. “This is our cue.” He clears his throat.

My heart thrashes about as we rise to our feet. I move to hook his arm over my shoulders, but he freezes.

“I just need you to hold my hand, Janie,” he says, his voice thick. He stretches out his arm towards me. “I need to do this by myself.”

Knowing how important this is to him, I watch on in awe as step by tortured step, we walk together until we reach the nearest corner of the makeshift dance floor. I look up to the stage, and Shaun is wearing a wide smile.

I place my left hand on Sam’s shoulder, and reach for his hand with my right. A shiver runs up my spine as our hands clasp together. Sam presses a kiss to my knuckles and scoops his other arm around my side, splaying his fingers against the small of my back. He breathes in deep and steadies himself. As seconds go by, his face becomes fierce with concentration. Bit by bit, his feet shuffle from left to right.

“I promise I’ll try not to step on your toes,” I say to lighten the mood.

Sam’s shoulders drop enough for me to notice. “Unlikely,” he says. “I’m the one you need to worry about.” Sam turns his head to the side and coughs.

“You feeling okay?”

He sniffs. “Nah, I’m fine. Probably just the dust.”

With all the foot traffic today, I’m surprised I haven’t been sneezing like crazy. I kiss Sam softly on the cheek. Now seems like the perfect time to question what’s going on with him and Ben. “Can I ask you something? Tell me if you don’t wanna talk about it.”

His brows pull together. “Okay.”

“Is everything good between you and your brother?”

Sam purses his lips, inches his shoulders upward, and drops them back into place. “Yup. I guess.”

“It’s just when you arrived, the vibe between you two seemed off.”

“Yeah, well the sheriff has ideas about what’s good for me. I know what’s good for me.”

I link my fingers behind Sam’s neck. “He cares about you, Sam.”

“I’m tryin’ to move forward, get somewhere, be somebody. I just feel like he’s holding me back.”

I look down at our feet and back up to meet his frown. “You seem to be moving ahead just fine to me.”

“I’m no ballroom dancer.”

I press my lips against his. I delight in a long-lasting kiss until Sam moans in the back of his throat.

Reluctantly, I pull back. “Then lucky for the both of us, because I don’t want a dancer. I want you.”

The song finishes, but we continue to sway, locked tight in each other’s arms. The young girl nods to Shaun and walks offstage as a lady with wild ginger hair in a ruffled denim dress and cowgirl boots takes her place. The woman, who looks to be in her forties, adjusts the microphone to her height, and then plucks the strings of a mandolin. Her voice crackles as she sings about writing a song, and her tears.

Sam’s arms stiffen around me. “Of all the frickin’ songs, she picks this one by Willie Nelson?”

The lady continues on about sad songs and waltzes. It’s kind of depressing. Ironic, really. I shift my arms around Sam’s waist.

“I hate country music,” he growls in my ear.

“The song’s not that bad,” I lie.

Sam’s mouth moves to my ear. The heat of his breath sends a flood of warmth to my lower belly. “I just wanted this one moment. She’s killin’ me.”

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