Maxwells Smile

heart thudding as the warm masculine heat of him invaded her pores and his breath hushed over her lips.
    The kiss was slow and tender, and it felt right, like the summer sun when she took her first step out onto the grass in the morning. Sitting beneath the breeze-tossed willow leaves, she felt she was in a dream she’d never had before, because it would have seemed silly to even imagine such a moment. But there was nothing silly about Sam Jones and his unrelenting kindness toward both her and Maxwell. Or this delightful kiss.
    Behind them, they heard Maxwell whisper triumphantly, “Yes!” and the kiss was broken as their mouths opened to laughter.
    But Rachel’s quickly faded. It had been irresponsible to take such a step with her son so close. And with her heart feeling tender right now, so…out of sorts. Sam Jones toyed with her carefully erected walls, and even though he’d just knocked down a few bricks, she wasn’t about to surrender. She’d been there before, and a failed romantic relationship always ended up hurting Maxwell more than her.
    “That was too fast,” she whispered, glancing toward her son.
    Sam seemed momentarily perplexed, then nodded. “Probably. Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
    “I did encourage it. I just…” Need to go slower . “It’s getting late. I have to start supper.” She stood up, collected the Popsicle stick and left Sam sitting beside Maxwell while she hurried into the house.
    Too fast, the logical part of her brain insisted. Yet that impetuous, wanting part of her that she tried to keep locked away began to unfurl and flutter within her heart.

Chapter Five
    Over the next few days, Sam worked in the McHenry garage, tearing out Sheetrock, replacing insulation and putting up a new plywood ceiling. He didn’t see Rachel until right before the school bus pulled up. She always arrived five minutes before Maxwell stepped off the bus. And she merely waved to Sam, then disappeared inside the house with her son.
    Sam had blown it with the kiss the other day, even though at the time he’d felt she’d been open to it. But she’d shut him down quickly.
    “Out of my league,” he muttered, reminding himself to keep an eye on the job and not the woman’s legs.
    “Sam!”
    “What? Ouch!” Startled by Maxwell’s shout, Sam had inadvertently grabbed a serrated board and felt a sliver enter his finger with a sharp stab.
    Maxwell stepped back at his booming shout, and Sam realized he’d freaked him. The boy retreated into the house, calling for his mother.
    “Great. Now she’ll never forgive me for scaring her kid.”
    Wincing at the inch-long sliver of wood sticking out of his thumb, Sam vacillated between going after the kid and trying to explain himself, or just leaving it be. He was already on unstable ground with Rachel.
    “What’s going on?” She swept into the garage, while her son lingered near the door, warily peering at them. “You frightened Maxwell.”
    “I didn’t mean to.” Sam stuck his hand behind his back—and forgot the boy was behind him.
    “He’s bleeding!” Maxwell yelled.
    “Let me see,” Rachel insisted.
    Sam shook his head.
    “Maxwell was worried about you. That’s why he came to get me.”
    “I’m a big boy. Get slivers all the time. It’ll be fine.”
    “Not if it’s bleeding. Come inside and let me get some alcohol. I won’t have you bleeding to death in my garage.”
    “It’s hardly a fatal wound.”
    With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, “Show me.”
    With a defeated sigh, Sam brought up his hand. Maxwell peeped and scampered back into the house.
    “My son isn’t keen on the sight of blood,” Rachel said, taking Sam’s wrist and tugging him toward the house.
    “Really? And he wants to be a brain surgeon?”
    “I’ve been informed there’s minimal blood when doing brain surgery. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re lucky. It’s suppertime. I may have to feed you to counter any wooziness from your injury.”
    Sam was about to protest that he was not at all woozy, when it hit him that she’d just invited him to stay for supper.
    Way to work the injury, Jones.
    * * *
    Dinner went well, and Rachel couldn’t get over the glances she caught Maxwell giving Sam. She’d swear they were looks of admiration. Plenty of times she’d invited a man over for a meal, but Maxwell had never offered him more than a “hello, I’ve got homework.”
    So what made Sam different? He was completely opposite Rachel’s usual