A Man Worth Loving

Sammy said the words bleakly.

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t?” He stared at the ground, unwilling to meet her gaze until she drew his attention by lightly clasping his hand.

“No. We all screw up. It doesn’t define us unless we let it.”

Aubrey squeezed his hand before letting it go. He expelled a short breath and stared out toward the field. “Yeah, well, actions speak louder than words and frankly, I’ve got people lining up to tell me what a jackass I’ve been, so what does that say?”

She smiled. “It says people care about you and know you can do better. People rise to the level of our expectations.”

“And what did people expect of you?” he asked, turning the tables on her.

Dear Reader,

Harlequin Books is celebrating its 60th year in publishing and I’m so proud to be part of this wonderful family. The first Harlequin book I read was A Thousand Roses by Bethany Campbell. I still have it, tucked away in a drawer, and every now and again I take it out and reread it. It’s that good.

Being a published author is a dream come true, from working with my wonderful editor, Johanna Raisanen, to seeing my book on the shelves. And it all started with that first Harlequin novel that found itself in my hands so many years ago.

A Man Worth Loving is my seventh novel published by Harlequin—I hope you enjoy Sammy and Aubrey’s story. Many readers have asked about Sammy Halvorsen, wondering if he was going to get his own story. Well, here it is. Probably not what was expected, but I think you’ll enjoy it.

Hearing from readers is one of my greatest joys (aside from really good chocolate), so don’t be shy. Feel free to drop me a line at my Web site, www. kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail at P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.

Happy reading,

Kimberly Van Meter

A Man Worth Loving

Kimberly Van Meter

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An avid reader since before she can remember, Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings on her mother’s portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved, to the point of reaching that coveted published status.

Kimberly, now a journalist, and her husband and three kids make their home in Oakdale, California. She enjoys writing, reading, photography and drinking hot chocolate by the windowsill when it rains.

Love is a gift we all deserve. This book is dedicated

to anyone who’s ever had their heart broken in the

worst way, yet found the courage to love again.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS A TIME WHEN SOME might’ve said that Sammy Halvorsen lived a charmed life, but—as Sammy cracked his eyelids open and squinted against the harsh sunlight, the taste of last night’s party still on his tongue—those days were definitely over.

Those days ended exactly six months, sixteen days and four hours ago.

Dragging a hand across the scruff of his cheeks to wipe at his mouth, he struggled to a sitting position on the sofa just in time to hear his front door opening. He groaned silently. He’d forgotten—or maybe he’d just blocked it out of his mind—that his mother was coming with a friend to discuss something he had no interest in discussing.

“Samuel?” His mother’s sharp query clanged in his head and set off a riot of pain that would gain no sympathy from Mary Halvorsen simply for the reasons he was hurting. Tying one on didn’t rate on Mary’s Sympathy-O-Meter; neither did anything Sammy was doing these days. And Sammy didn’t have the energy to argue the fact with her.

“In here,” he answered with a scratch in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “In the living room, Ma.”

She appeared in the doorway and the smile on her face froze when she took in his appearance. Deep disappointment or anger—he wasn’t really sure but neither boded well for him—flashed in her expression, but he was too hungover to try and charm his way back into her good graces. Everything these days took too much effort. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and then gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you some coffee or something?” he asked, pulling himself up to walk with an unsteady gait to the small kitchen.

“Coffee would be fine, Samuel,” Mary said.

Sammy swayed when he reached for the dark roast blend, grimacing as the world tilted on its axis and he nearly lost whatever was souring his stomach. That would not go over well, he thought with dark humor. “Anything for your friend?” he asked, once he’d finally noticed the petite blonde standing beside his mother.

The woman shook her head and, following Mary’s lead, gingerly took a seat on the sofa where previously Sammy had crashed for the night, too drunk to even make it down the short hallway to his bed.

Sammy could hear murmured conversation between the two as he filled the coffeemaker and set it to brew. He wondered why he’d agreed to this meeting. Right now he was just wishing they’d go away so he could return to that blissful sleep of the inebriated. But, as he returned with two full mugs, one for his mom and one for himself, he knew the chances of that happening were slim to none.

This was an intervention Mary Halvorsen-style, and it would take more than his discomfort to sway her from her mission.

“Maybe we should come back another time,” the woman suggested, as if reading Sammy’s mind. He lifted his mug to her and cracked a grin but it must’ve come out looking more like a grimace, for she didn’t respond favorably. “You don’t seem…well.”

“He’s hungover,” Mary said before Sammy could answer, and he frowned. “Too bad for him, I say. I didn’t rearrange my schedule to accommodate this meeting just to reschedule because my son doesn’t have a lick of sense in his fool head these days.” She speared Sammy with a short look as she asked pointedly, “Where’s Ian?”

At the mention of his son’s name, Sammy took another bracing sip of his coffee and zeroed in on a dust bunny on the floor. “With Annabelle and Dean. I forgot about today. I needed to go out last night.”

“What you need is a nanny. Someone who can help you take care of Ian. It’s not fair to Dean and Annabelle to keep shouldering your responsibility when they have a little one of their own. This has gone on long enough, Samuel.”

Sammy couldn’t respond to that. He knew she was right, but inside his chest was a useless shell where his heart used to be, and he had nothing left for his young son. It hurt just to look at the kid. If it hadn’t been for him, Dana would still be here. Sammy blinked back the wave of shame that followed and finished his coffee in two scalding swallows.

“What’s your name?” he asked the woman.

“Aubrey…Aubrey Rose. I just want to say that I’m so sorry for your I—”

“You know much about kids?”

She started at the interruption. “Well, I was an au pair during college and I did a lot of babysitting when I was a kid.”

“What the hell is an au pair?”

“It’s another word for nanny, used mostly in Europe. I spent a year in Italy…. Anyway, yes, to answer your question I have some experience. I’m also CPR and first aid trained.”

“See?” Mary said. “Perfect. More than perfect. And she can start immediately.”

Sammy glanced away. Not perfect. Everything was far from perfect but who was he to belabor the point? It didn’t much matter either way.

He gestured to his mom. “How do you two know each other?”

“We met at the Quilters Brigade,” Mary answered. “And before you open your mouth to say some kind of joke, let me spare you the effort. I am not in a joking sort of mood.”

“Jeez, Ma, lighten up. You’ll scare the young folk,” he said, his mouth curving in a tired grin, but he dropped it quickly enough when his mother’s stare narrowed. She wasn’t kidding. “So the Quilters Brigade…”

Aubrey shrugged. “It’s a relaxing hobby and I usually donate the piece when I’m finished.”

“Not from around here, I take it?”

“No. I’m a transplant, as Mary calls it.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying hard not to remember that Dana had been an outsider, too. He swallowed and looked away. “I guess you’ll do well enough. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about babies so you’re already more qualified than me to take care of him.” And that fact sliced him to the bone every single day.

AUBREY SHOULD’VE KNOWN this wasn’t going to work out. What had she been thinking? She slanted a look at Mary, realizing that the older woman hadn’t been entirely honest about her son’s situation. This was more than a widower needing help with his infant son. This man was a train wreck. And she wasn’t interested in hitching a ride. She had enough baggage to sink the Titanic. She didn’t need this guy’s, as well.

Aubrey gathered her purse, ready to leave when the front door opened and a curvy redhead walked in cradling a bundle against her shoulder. “Sorry, Sammy, but something came up and I had to bring Ian home. I know you said you’d come by later but…Oh! I’m interrupting. Mary said you were interviewing a nanny. I’m so sorry. You must be Aubrey?”

Aubrey nodded and the woman continued in a rush, gently dropping a full diaper bag to the floor and bringing the baby to his father, which by the expression on his face was about as pleasurable as having a nail pounded into his foot. He held the child awkwardly, almost away from his body so as to limit contact, and was quick to hand the child to his grandmother, who immediately started snuggling the boy. “I’m Annabelle,” she said. “Nice to meet you. You’re going to love Ian. He’s the sweetest baby. Mary, I’ll see you later?”

“Eight o’clock. Bring Jasmine. I haven’t had my granddaughter fix in two days.”

“Will do. Oh, one more thing, there are a few preprepared bottles in the diaper bag that need to go into the fridge right away. Okay, bye!”

In a blink, Annabelle was gone again but Sammy had hardly registered her presence after she’d put the baby in his arms.

Even as Mary continued to lavish the child with whispered endearments, Aubrey caught a look so full of anguish in Sammy’s eyes that for a moment her own heart spasmed. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that dull, empty stare that said I care about nothing and no one so don’t even try, and Aubrey knew taking this job would be a mistake.

She opened her mouth with the intent to decline but Mary took that moment to place the baby in her arms. As Aubrey held that soft body she felt an echo of an old pain that never truly healed no matter how many years she put between it and herself. Babies. She loved them. Truly and deeply. All sorts, all kinds. They were her Achilles’ heel. And it was the cruelest of ironies that she would never bear one.

“Aubrey, meet Ian Samuel Halvorsen. Isn’t he a doll?”

Aubrey nodded. About that part, Mary hadn’t lied. This child was beautiful with a full head of dark hair, porcelain skin and a rosebud mouth that was nearly too pretty for a boy. In fact, if he hadn’t been decked out in a sleeper with airplanes on it and gripping a blue blanket it might’ve been hard to tell his gender. But then again, babies at this age were sometimes hard to tell anyway. She couldn’t resist bending down to inhale that sweet intoxicating baby scent and knew even as she did so, walking away was going to be difficult.

“He’s beautiful,” Aubrey said softly, a slow but reluctant smile forming on her mouth. “Does he look like his mother?”

“The spitting image,” Sammy choked out before leaving the room on legs so stiff it looked as if his back might crack from the pressure.

Oh, Lord. That man was drowning. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that and Aubrey knew from firsthand experience that drowning people often took down the people trying to save them. She hadn’t put her life back together only to have it torn apart again by someone else.

Aubrey handed Ian back to his grandmother. “Mary, I like you and I appreciate the opportunity you’ve offered me but I think this job is more than I can handle.”

After a moment, Mary said, “Ian needs you, Aubrey.”

“Me? Why me?”

“I’m going to level with you because I get the feeling that you can see right through bullshit and I’m not going to waste your time feeding you any. I’m too old to be raising my grandchild, and my other two sons are busy trying to raise their own families. Annabelle is wearing herself out trying to do everything for Sammy because Dana was her best friend and that’s how she deals with her own grief. But Sammy needs to start bonding with his son. He can’t do that if he has too many people picking up the slack for him and that’s what’s been happening since Dana died.”

“How is hiring a nanny going to help him with that?”

“It will allow him to break in slowly.” Mary inhaled softly as she touched Ian’s downy cheek. “He loves his boy. He just doesn’t want to right now.”

Aubrey shook her head, her gut instinct telling her to stick with her initial decision and decline, but she was secretly horrified at the idea of leaving the baby to his father’s emotional void. Babies needed love and affection to grow and thrive. She doubted Samuel Halvorsen was capable of that right now. So where did that leave Ian? You can’t save every child, a voice warned. No, but she could at least help this child for a short while. No one said she had to get emotionally involved. And no one said she had to stay forever.

“I’ll take the job—temporarily. I understand what you’re saying about your son needing to break in slowly but if it turns out that I think it’s not helping, I’m going to give notice.”

“Fair enough.” Mary rose and placed the boy in the swing. “I’ll go get Sammy so you two can talk salary.”

The gently swaying swing drew her attention and she withheld a sigh. She was such a sucker for a sweet face.

Her attention strayed to the photographs on the walls. There were several of Sammy with his late wife. Mary had said her name was Dana and they’d only been married a short time before she died. Aubrey tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and couldn’t help but feel sad for the young family. A son left without a mother and a husband left without a wife. Sometimes life dealt crappy cards.

Mary returned with Sammy and Aubrey sat a little straighter, projecting as much detached professionalism as she knew how to, and even did a good job of dismissing the casual observations that drifted through her mind as he started talking compensation, schedules and whatnot. Observations such as the dark golden scruff on his face, which was a shade lighter than the tousled mess on top of his head, and the mesmerizing hazel of his eyes that, even bloodshot from a night of tearing up the town, were still pretty arresting. No doubt about it, this guy was a looker. He had that rugged, construction-worker thing going on that would cap off a calendar of hot guys quite nicely, alongside the requisite batch of firefighters and military men. Not her type, really. She could almost hear her mother’s voice carping in her ear that Sammy Halvorsen might very well be her type if she were looking to get her heart broken—yet again—but she wasn’t so it didn’t matter, right?

No, Sammy Halvorsen was so off-limits he might as well be orbiting a separate planet. As far as bad habits went, rehabilitating brokenhearted men was by far her worst. Catching a man on the rebound wasn’t something Aubrey wanted to do ever again. No matter how attractive the man was or how adorable his baby was.

Besides, what was she worried about, anyway? It wasn’t like she was looking for love—far from it—so everything should be fine.

“When can you start?” he asked abruptly.

Mary interjected with a firm shake of her head before Aubrey could answer. “Not today. She has plans. Tomorrow is soon enough,” she added with an arched brow. “You can handle your boy for one night, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” he said, but his eyes said something else entirely.

Aubrey checked the frown she felt building in her brow. It was no business of hers what kind of relationship Sammy had with his son. Her job would be to feed, clothe and otherwise care for Ian but no one said anything about getting personally involved.

She cast one final look over her shoulder as she followed Mary out and caught sight of Sammy staring down at his son, gently swaying in the swing, with an expression of—dare she say it?—resentment, and Aubrey wanted to give Samuel Halvorsen an earful. That man didn’t know how to count his blessings.

Stay professional, she admonished herself. This was a job…nothing more.

CHAPTER TWO

SAMMY WINCED AGAINST THE PAIN in his head and, ignoring his son’s outstretched hands as he passed the swing, went straight for the kitchen for some aspirin. Ian fussed when it was apparent Sammy wasn’t going to liberate him from the swing but Sammy couldn’t possibly deal with the kid when his head was about to explode. He washed down three extra-strength pain relievers with a generous swallow of a fresh beer and then leaned against the counter, closing his eyes against Ian’s gathering howl. Sammy rubbed at his eyes and then drained the can so he could crush it and leave it behind in the kitchen. So what if it was only 10:00 a.m.? A little hair of the dog was what he was going to need to deal with the screamer in the other room.

Ian’s face was red and scrunched from crying, his big, round eyes staring at Sammy reproachfully as he lifted his chubby arms again, whimpering until Sammy pulled him free to put him on the floor. But that’s not what Ian wanted, either, apparently because he wiggled and kicked and screamed until Sammy was quite sure the kid was going to have a heart attack or something. Alarmed, he picked him up and gently but awkwardly jostled him the way he’d seen Annabelle do with Ian and her daughter Jasmine when they fussed. It seemed to work for a minute but before Sammy could enjoy the reprieve, the kid yowled loud enough to bring the house down.

“Damn, kid, what’s your problem?” he muttered, jostling him a little less gently, which only made it worse. “Are you hungry or something?” he asked. He tilted his son upside down so he could sniff his drawers. He drew back quickly. “Oh, gross. Dude? Seriously! We’re going to have to work on that. That’s disgusting.”

His alcohol-soaked brain wasn’t functioning on higher levels, and for a second he couldn’t remember how to change a diaper. His gaze sought and found the diaper bag Annabelle had dropped off, and he grabbed it. With one hand holding Ian in a football pose, which the kid didn’t like one bit, Sammy wrestled with the bag until the contents spilled out, including several bottles, which rolled out and went everywhere. He picked a diaper and the wipes from the pile and proceeded to the sofa.

Ian, near hysterical, waved his hands and kicked his feet so hard Sammy had a hard time grabbing the flailing little suckers so he could take the offending diaper off. “Will you cut it out already? Do you want this thing off or not?” he demanded and Ian squeezed more tears down his cheeks, which made Sammy feel ten times worse for being so rough with him. “Sorry, kid….” he muttered, but he was too busy trying to wipe the crap—holy hell, how’d a kid so small make such a mess?—from Ian’s little bare butt to waste time on apologies that the baby wouldn’t understand anyway. His brother Dean had tried to tell him that the tone of his voice was important when dealing with kids, especially when they’re young, but honestly, Sammy hadn’t been interested in taking parenting classes with his wife fresh in the grave.

Finally, he got Ian clean and into a fresh outfit, because the one he’d been in now had baby poop all over it, but Ian was still puckering his face, getting ready to wail. “C’mon, help a guy out. What’s wrong?” he moaned, collapsing against the back of the sofa and staring at the ceiling in misery. Suddenly, Ian slid from the sofa, startling Sammy, to land on the floor with an oof that knocked the wind out of the little guy so it took a moment for the real screaming to start.

“Oh, God, are you okay?” he exclaimed, rushing to pick up his son, scared that the kid was truly hurt. When Ian didn’t stop screaming, he did the only thing he knew how to do in this kind of situation. He called Annabelle.

AUBREY WAS IN THE QUILTING shop, perusing new fabrics, when she overheard Mary talking with her daughter-in-law Annabelle. Aubrey didn’t mean to eavesdrop but her ears perked when she heard they were talking about Ian.

“He’s fine,” Annabelle assured Mary, who wore a concerned frown on her face. “He just got the wind knocked out of him, but I told Sammy he should never leave Ian on the sofa without watching him. He’s just learning to roll over on his own. The sofa’s not that high off the ground but if it’d been the bed…he might’ve been really hurt.”

Mary scowled. “That boy ought to be horsewhipped for the idiot he’s being. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was raised better than that, I can tell you that right now. His father and I are beside ourselves….” Mary stopped as Aubrey approached, her tirade momentarily halted. A bright smile followed. “Why, Aubrey, hello, I didn’t see you there. You remember my daughter-in-law Annabelle?”

“Nice to see you again,” Aubrey murmured, taking in the beautiful, curvy redhead and the little blond girl skipping around her feet. She smiled at the girl, who had stopped to stare at her with wide, inquisitive blue eyes. “Is this your daughter?” she asked Annabelle.

“One of them. This is Honey. My baby, Jasmine, is home with her dad. I just needed to talk with Mary about Ian. I knew she’d be here at the shop so I made a quick stop. You’re going to be Ian’s nanny, I hear?”

“Yes. I start this afternoon. What happened to Ian? I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Oh, it was nothing really but it shook Ian up a little. He took a tumble off the sofa and it knocked the wind out of him. He was totally fine when he got some love and affection. And a bottle. Poor guy was starving. I told Sammy I left him some preprepared bottles in the diaper bag but I found them under the sofa.”

“What kind of formula does he use?” Aubrey asked, getting a notepad ready to jot down the brand. Mary and Annabelle exchanged a look and Aubrey wondered what she’d inadvertently said wrong.

“He doesn’t drink formula much,” Annabelle said, pausing. “Depending on your philosophies, this may sound really strange, but I express breast milk for Ian.”

“Excuse me?” Aubrey started, not quite sure she heard that correctly. “Did you say you’re breast-feeding your nephew?”

“No, I said I’m expressing breast milk for my nephew.”

Mary intervened, speaking warmly of her daughter-in-law as she explained. “You see, Dana died in childbirth. A rarity in this day and age but it still happens. Annabelle had only just given birth to Jasmine a month earlier and because Dana had planned to breast-feed for as long as possible, Annabelle started expressing milk for Ian before he even left the hospital because she knew it was what Dana would’ve wanted.”