Song of the West by Nora Roberts

finding him watching her from the living room archway.
    â€œI . . . ah . . . Bree seems fine.” She avoided his eyes and toyed with the ink pot by the phone. She took a step backward as Jake advanced. “She said she thought Shylock misses me. That’s quite an accomplishment, he’s so self-sufficient and aloof.”
    â€œSamantha. Come, sit down.” He held out his hand for hers. She knew if he touched her, she would be lost.
    â€œNo, no, I think I’ll go to bed, I’m still not quite myself.” Her color had ebbed again, leaving pale cheeks and darkened eyes.
    â€œStill running, Sam?” The anger in his tone was well controlled.
    â€œNo, no, I . . .”
    â€œAll right, then, for the moment we seem to be at a stalemate.” He captured her chin before she could avoid the gesture. “But we haven’t finished by a long shot. Do you understand?”
    She nodded, then broke away to flee to the sanctuary of her room.

Chapter Eight
    As each day passed, Sabrina became more cheerful. Her features took on a roundness that gave her a contented appearance. And as Samantha watched her, she wondered if Sabrina possessed more strength than she had ever given her credit for. It was a sobering experience to see her usually dreamy sister grabbing life with determination and purpose while she herself couldn’t seem to stop daydreaming. Jake Tanner, she had to admit, was disturbing her days and sneaking into her dreams.
    Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she scowled and continued her morning trudge to the mailbox. He meant to have her, did he? Well, Samantha Evans had no intention of being had by anyone, especially some annoying cowboy with too much charm for his own good . . . and fascinating green eyes, and that beautiful mouth. . . .
    ***
    Now the days began to lengthen. The sun grew in strength. Spring began to drift over the basin, greening the grass and teasing the crocuses to push their heads from the earth.
    Scurrying down the hall as the doorbell interrupted her latest project—painting the nursery—Samantha wiped a few streaks of canary yellow on her jeans and opened the door.
    The woman in the doorway smiled, her almond-shaped dark eyes making a thorough survey. “Hello, you must be Samantha. I’m Lesley Marshall.”
    The introduction was unnecessary, for with an instinct she had been unaware of possessing, Samantha had recognized the woman instantly. “Please, come in. It’s still rather cold, isn’t it?” She smiled, refusing to acknowledge the effort it cost her, and shut the nippy May air outside.
    â€œI’m so glad to meet you at last.” The dark eyes swept down, then up Samantha briefly. “I’ve heard so much about you.” There was light amusement in her voice.
    â€œOh, really? I’m afraid I can’t say the same.” Her smile was faintly apologetic. “But, of course, I’ve been rather busy.”
    â€œI would have been by sooner, but I wanted to wait until Sabrina was more up to company.”
    â€œBree’s feeling much better these days. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. Let me take your coat.” Samantha hung the soft fur in the hall closet. Turning back to her visitor, she needed all her willpower to keep the social smile in place. The oatmeal slacks accentuated Lesley’s sleekness; the trim cerise blouse set off her delicately feathered ebony hair and the perfect ivory of her skin. Desperately, Samantha wished a miracle would transform her navy sweatshirt with its Wilson High School banner and her paint-streaked jeans into something smart and sophisticated. As usual, her hair was escaping from its pins. She resisted the urge to bring her hand up to it and jam them in tightly.
    â€œBree’s in the living room,” she announced, knowing the pale gray eyes had studied her and found her wanting. “I was just