When he heard the front door open, he set the pot aside and headed to the living room…to Carla.

Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes shadowed with fatigue. For a moment, Sam was tempted to give way to his anger. She gave too much of herself. She gave as she did everything--without half measures, without thinking of the cost to herself. It was the one source of contention in their marriage. Attempts on his part to persuade her to occasionally say no met with a serene smile and an unyielding stubbornness.

He did the only thing he could. He kissed her. And prayed he was worthy of this woman who gave love as easily as she breathed.
When she raised her head, she gave a low whistle. "You're going to have a beaut of a shiner tomorrow."

He grinned. "I'll just tell everyone it's my wife's fault."

"My fault?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Sure. You're the reason I was coaching the team."

"Nice logic. Is that how you win arguments on the city council?"

"No. That's how I plan to get you to pamper me for the rest of the evening."

She stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "How's that?"

"Not bad. Once more and I'll definitely be on the mend."

Smiling at his foolishness, she repeated the kiss. It lengthened, deepened, until she was clinging to him.

When he released her, Sam appeared equally shaken. "I think we may have discovered a new cure for black eyes."

"I think maybe you're right." She took a trembling breath, the aftermath of the kiss, and then sank onto the sofa where she tried…unsuccessfully...to hide a yawn. She saw Sam's quick frown and managed a faint smile.

"Let me help you with your shoes." He tugged off her shoes and rubbed her feet.

"Mmm." She sighed her appreciation. "That feels so good. I think we must've covered every square inch of the neighborhood."

"Did you find Grover Cleveland?"

A frown chased away her smile. "No. We searched the whole neighborhood. No one's seen him. Not even the Millers."

"The Millers?"

"Mrs. Miller has a toy poodle named Collette that Grover Cleveland courts on the weekends."

His lips twitched as he tried to hide a grin. "Courts?"

"You know, courts as in..." To Sam's delight, she blushed.

The grin got away from him just then, earning him a reproving look. "Yeah, I know. I just didn't know if Grover Cleveland did."

"Grover Cleveland's the neighborhood Lothario."

George barked.

"Except for George," she said, patting his head.

Sam chuckled. "Maybe Grover's hiding out. Afraid to come home and face the music."

The smile he'd hoped to elicit didn't appear.

"Hey, you're not really worried about old Grover, are you? He'll turn up. Didn't you say he did this every week?"

"I can't help it. This feels different. If something happened to him, I don't know what Mrs. Harvey would do. She dotes on that dog."

"She could get another one."

"She loves Grover Cleveland, Sam. He's not just a dog to her. He's family."

He heard the soft reproach in Carla's voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I know." She bent down to scratch George behind the ears. "How would you feel if something happened to George and someone suggested we just replace him?"

Sam looked down at the dog who'd made himself one of the family some months ago. They hadn't chosen George; he'd chosen them. Sam never thought he'd admit it, but he'd miss the floppy eared dog. "I get your point."

She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "I just wish I could have helped her."

"You did. You listened to her and tried to find him. That's a lot more than most people would've done."

"But it wasn't enough."

He took her in his arms, smoothing his hands down her back. "You can't fix everything that goes wrong in the world, Carla. No one can."

"You're right. I just wish..."

"I know. You want to make everything right." It was another one of the things he loved about her, her ability to put herself in the place of others. Too frequently, though, she was unable to draw the line between empathy and sympathy.

He felt her nod against his chest. "If Grover Cleveland doesn't show up by tomorrow, I'll help you look for him. Until then, we've got the whole evening to ourselves." He grabbed her hand. "C'mon. I fixed linguine and crab."

"You're a life-saver."

"I know."

"Not to mention modest."

He bowed with a flourish.

An hour later, Carla pushed back her chair and sighed with unmistakable satisfaction. "For a man who couldn't even boil water when we were married, you've come a long way."

Sam smiled, her words bringing a warm flush of pleasure to his face. She hadn't been exaggerating. His cooking skills had consisted of heating up a microwave dinner and not much else. Though he doubted he'd ever be cordon-bleu quality, he now cooked passably well. Just another of the changes she'd wrought in his life.

She started to clear the table when he stilled her hand. "You're beat. I'll take care of it."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. We made a deal. One person cooks and the other cleans up."

"In that case, why don't we do it together?"

They splashed in the sudsy water like two children. Wiping a bubble from her nose, he remembered the first time he'd helped her wash dishes. Then he'd only wanted to get to know the pretty lady minister better. Falling in love with her had never been part of his plan. But Carla had him doing a lot of things he'd never thought he'd be doing. Things like coaching a girls' basketball team. Things like cooking dinner and liking it. Things like...
She brushed her lips over his, wiping away rational thought--and every other kind.

He wound the dishtowel around her waist, drawing her to him. "What did I ever do without you?"

"I don't know. But I'm not giving you a chance to find out."