Fixing Perfect by Therese M. Travis Page A

right.”
    “I’m fine. I’m with Sam. Why wouldn’t I be all right?” But Robin heard the crack in her voice, and the two men must have heard it as well.
    Donovan finally looked at her. “It just seemed like an odd thing for you to do—go in the water when it’s so cold, and rough.” When she frowned, he went on, “I was worried. That’s all.”
    “Donovan—”
    Sam stood, though one hand still reached to Robin’s knee. “I can take care of her, you know. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.”
    “I’m right here, you know.”
    “Of course you are.” Sam smiled, his glinting gaze warming as he looked at her. “And I promised to get you home soon, so that’s where we’re going.” He handed her the crutches and nodded to Donovan.
    Robin fitted the cuffs to her hands and headed for the street leading to her house. More than ever she thanked God that Gram lived close enough to the bay that her street didn’t climb the hills.
    Sam carried his shoes over his shoulder as he paced beside her.
    “You want to stop and put those on?”
    “It’s fine.” He glanced behind him. “Is it just me, or did that guy creep you out, too?”
    “Sam.” She shot him a look full of reproach. “He was worried. You heard him. What’s wrong with that?”
    “I was with you!” After that, Sam was silent for half a block. Only when they reached the short walk leading to Gram’s front door, did he say, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m letting...things...things that shouldn’t bother me get to me.”
    “You think?”
    Sam’s gaze was steady and serious for the half second he met her eyes. Then he looked down.
    “Oh, Sam.” She let one crutch lean on her hip as she reached for him. His fingers met hers, and he finally let her see his face again. “He’s a nice guy. He’s good looking, all that. But he’s not—” She’d been about to say, he’s not you. She shook herself and gripped the crutch again. “He’s not anybody I’m interested in, OK?”
    Sam stared at her for a long minute, and started to shut the door. He stopped, pushed it open again, and leaned forward to kiss her mouth, hard, before he left.
     
    
     
    He watched her swimming. He giggled behind his hand with the joy of her perfection. If he could only save this in a picture forever, keep it always.
    But then, he could. He squirmed into a tighter hiding place, so she wouldn’t see him, realized she wouldn’t have, anyway, and relaxed. She only saw Sam.
    Fair enough. He’d make another one of his pictures, right away, before he forgot the vision, and he’d put Sam in it. Show her she couldn’t hide from him.
    She’d never be able to hide.
     
     
     
     

9
     
    Sam was nuts. Out of his mind. Crazy. And yet—if Robin hadn’t said she didn’t much like the other guy, Sam would never have kissed her. He’d have had that much restraint. Shouldn’t have kissed her, anyway.
    Because what could she think of him after that?
    He was half glad he hadn’t stuck around to find out. He peeled his uniform shirt over his head and tossed it across the ambulance door.
    Bricker came around the back of the car, his face pale.
    “What’s up?” Sam dragged a pullover around his waist. Playing in the water the day before had left him with a sore throat, but he wouldn’t change that, either. Not the time on the beach, and not the kiss. No matter what Robin thought. It was all worth it.
    She hadn’t smacked him with one of her crutches, at least. Not that he’d given her time, but he hadn’t seen any intent of bodily harm in her eyes, for that half second he’d looked into them.
    “Sam.”
    He looked back at Bricker. “Sorry. I’m listening.”
    “There were some kids up at Wrigley, said some guy in one of your uniforms stopped them, and was talking to them.”
    Sam frowned at his friend. “And?”
    “And nothing.” Bricker held his hands out, frustration strong in the tension of his stance. “That was enough. This climate, any adult male