Sam

It turned out her father had been right to be scared to teach Sam to drive. She was apparently horrible at it. She hadn’t even made it out of the parking spot without an accident. The car she hit belonged to one of the bartenders at Finnegan’s. She hadn’t really hit his little Fiat that hard, but the damn thing still folded up like a tin can. And it didn’t help that the Defender was basically a tank. It didn’t even have a scratch on it. Probably a good thing considering they were stupid expensive.

The bartender—his name was Pete—was actually a pretty good sport about the whole thing once he calmed down. Devon explained it was his fault after basically tossing Sam into the back seat so no one would see it was her who’d been driving. He climbed into the driver’s seat and hopped out before she could argue.

“This is all my fault,” Devon groaned. “Sam was trying to reason with me, telling me not to drive because I’d had too much to drink. I shoulda listened to her. I’m so sorry, Pete. I’ll pay for all the damages. I promise.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. That clearly wasn’t what happened, but she also wasn’t eager to pay for the damages to Pete’s car. She wanted to be sent back to Boston, but not at the expense of bankrupting her father.

“Shite, Devon. Wait here and I’ll drive ya both home.”

“No, Pete, you don’t have to do that,” Devon protested.

“Yes, I do. Or yer Da will have me head. He’ll already be mad as a box-a-frogs I let ya get langered in my bar. The least I can do is get ya home safely.”

* * *

The ride home was awkward and definitely longer than six miles. It made Sam glad she’d vetoed the walking idea—even though the driving idea had been an epic fail. The whole uncomfortable car ride back to Devon’s was pretty much a nonstop string of Devon apologizing to Pete, who ignored him.

When they finally arrived, Pete dropped them off at the front door, while Devon continued to beg forgiveness.

“Ah, quit yer Olagonin’,” Pete yelled. “I remember what it’s like to be young. Besides, yer ol’ Da and I got into it a lot worse when we was yer age. Henry owes me one. I’ll talk to him an’ smooth things over for ya, Devon.”

“Thanks, Pete. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah,” he said waving Devon off. “Just quit being a stook and get yer lass inside before she catches her death.”

Sam watched Pete drive off and then followed Devon into the house. To Sam’s relief there was no butler to greet them. She glanced at the massive grandfather clock in the foyer—11:30. Maybe butlers didn’t work late? Speaking of late, her father was going to flip. She’d left with Devon hours ago for a bite to eat. She almost felt a twinge of guilt, but maybe tonight hadn’t turned out so bad after all. Returning home late, wearing some drunk guy’s sweater after a car accident—her father would have to see that Ireland was already a bad influence on her.

That was if he was even still here. Sam had expected to see her father rush out to greet her, but the house was deadly silent.

“Sam, about tonight,” Devon started. “I’m really sorry—”

She cut him off. She wasn’t sure if he was going to apologize for the driving, the drinking or the kiss—most of which had been her fault—but she wasn’t in the mood. She really just wanted to go home, wherever that was. “Devon, it’s been a long night. Can you just help me find my dad so I can go home?”

He looked at her strangely. “Your father’s already asleep.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? He left me here?”

“No, he’s asleep here. He sent us both a text. Didn’t you get it?”

“No! My phone’s been dead since we got to Finnegan’s.”

Devon fished his phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

Sam’s eyes welled as she read through the messages in the group text her father had sent to her and Devon.

Thomas Connors: Don’t rush back. Henry and I are on a roll. You kids have fun.

Thomas Connors: Slight complication with our lodging. Standby, Sam.

Thomas Connors: We’re going to stay with the James’s tonight, Sam. I’ll explain in the morning.

Thomas Connors: Off to bed. Cara had the Merlin room made up for you, Sam.

The last text had come through hours ago.

This was unbelievable. Her father just went to bed without even knowing where she was or if she was getting his messages! How could he do that? Sam didn’t care what he said, the James’s weren’t practically family. They were practically strangers! She hadn’t seen them in nine years. The least her father could do was have a conversation with her before just putting her up in some stranger’s mansion with his handsy son lurking around.

God! Sam wanted to scream. Sometimes her father was so clueless about having a daughter. He didn’t know when to worry about things, like leaving her alone with boys. All he worried about was not letting her drive. Her plan to get back to Boston by acting out suddenly seemed hopeless. Sam’s father would have to notice her in order for that to work.

She stomped off down the hall, realizing she didn’t know where she was going. But she didn’t really care. She just wanted to be alone so she could scream and then call Megan and cry about how terrible her life was. She was pretty sure the library was in the direction she was headed and that’s where she’d left her laptop.

“Where are you going?” Devon called catching up with her.

“I don’t know,” she said stopping suddenly and throwing her hands up. “Thanks for telling me about the texts, by the way.”

“I thought you got them,” Devon said incredulously. “Besides, I didn’t see them until the car ride home. I was a little preoccupied at the bar.”

“Don’t you dare blame tonight on me,” she shouted. Even though it was all her fault.

“Sam, I’m not. Everything is my fault.” He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, pausing at the nape of his neck. “This isn’t how I planned for today to go.”

“Oh, you had a plan?” she yelled—not really sure why she was still yelling. Especially when Devon looked completely defeated. His eyebrows scrunched together in the most adorable way when he was frustrated.

Sam took pity on him. Besides, she was really too exhausted to fight with him right now. All she wanted was a shower and a bed. “Look, can we just forget about tonight. I need to find my laptop and take a shower.”

“Yeah, come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

Devon

Devon led Sam to her bedroom—noting the fact that it was right across the hall from his. He opened the door and turned on the lights for her.

“Shower’s in there,” he said pointing to the en suite bathroom. “It should be stocked with everything you need.”

Sam walked over to the bed, inspecting the shoulder bag that lay on it. She pulled out her laptop, seeming relieved to have located it. Then, she sat down on the bed and kicked off her clunky boots. There was still so much more he wanted to say to her, but everything seemed jumbled in his head. Tonight was already a disaster. He should probably just go to bed and start over in the morning.

“If you need anything, my room’s right across the hall,” he said turning toward the door.

“Um, wait. What about clothes?” she asked sheepishly. “I have an overnight bag, but I left it in my dad’s rental car.”

“You’ll find everything you need in the dresser,” Devon replied robotically.

He wasn’t a fan of his stepmother, but he couldn’t deny that her hospitality was flawless when it came to entertaining guests.

Sam jumped off the bed and started pulling open drawers like she didn’t trust him. She pulled out a pink and white striped silk nightgown—and not the sexy kind, the old lady kind.

“I’m not wearing this!”

“Would you rather borrow some of my clothes?” he offered.

She seemed to remember she was wearing his sweater and pulled it off, tossing it back at him. “I want my clothes,” she whined.

“The staff’s all gone home for the evening, Sam. Can’t you make that work?” Devon grumbled pointing to the frilly nightgown.

“No. And I don’t need staff. I can go get my bag myself if you can just tell me where my dad’s car is.”

“Good luck getting in without the keys,” Devon said, instantly regretting his tone. He hadn’t meant to get snippy, but Sam had a way of getting under his skin. She always had.

“Great! Well, thanks for a wonderful evening, Devon. It was a pleasure as always,” she said sarcastically. “Goodnight!”

Devon watched Sam march into the bathroom and slam the door. He left when he heard the shower running—slamming the door behind him too.