*Sheepishly peeks around corner* Hello! This took an unexpectedly long hiatus... I'm really sorry about that. I hope you enjoy this installment, and I promise: I will finish!

My usual thanks to my tireless beta, GuillietaC. There was a lot of crossing-out and highlighting involved in this one. A lot.

A few days later, close to the time she knew Paul would be leaving for the day, Sam entered Hastings Police Station and made for the front desk.

"Miss Stewart!" Sargent Brooke's eyes widened with pleasure. "I'm glad to see you!"

"Hello Brookie," she grinned. "I wanted to make sure you were getting on all right without me."

Brooke missed Sam's teasing. "We're all right. Well – some of us are having a harder time of it than others," he smirked.

Sam knew exactly to whom he was referring; feeling herself blush, she promptly steered the conversation away from Paul. "Has the new DCS started work?"

Brooke's smile seemed to deflate. "Yes – a Mr. Meredith. Heard of 'im?"

"No, can't say I have."

Brooke grumbled a little in the back of his throat, and lowered his voice to a discreet whisper. "Mr. Reid hadn't either. Mr. Meredith is no Mr. Foyle – that I'm sure of. I don't think Sergeant Milner is terribly impressed, but of course he wouldn't say so."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," agreed Sam.

"Listen – most of the boys have gone, but why don't you go on back and knock on 'is door? Put a smile on 'is face to see you."

"I hope so – thank you, Brookie." With a nod of thanks, she turned to walk back to Paul's office.

Paul's office door stood open, so as Sam approached, she was able to see him as he sat at his desk. There was an open folder in front of him and his head was in his hands. Sam's heart skipped a beat, and she almost lost her nerve, but remaining just outside in the hallway, she knocked lightly on the door frame.

Paul raised his head and turned it; his surprise at seeing Sam was obvious. What he privately hoped was less apparent from his flushed cheeks was his immense pleasure in seeing her again, and his admiration of her in the pretty blue dress she wore.

"Sam! Hello!" he said, and got to his feet.

Sam stepped inside the office wearing a radiant smile. "Hello, Paul," she greeted him with the slightest of chuckles, leaning in to allow him to kiss her cheek.

He squired her into the guest chair, and then leaned against his desk. "How are you?"

"Mmm. Really well, thanks."

"Have you found a new position?"

Although Sam's eyes lit up, her disappointment showed as she replied, "Yes – unfortunately I can't really talk about it."

"That's too bad," commiserated Paul. "Official Secrets Act?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yes. Total torture not to be able to say, but there you are!"

"Are you enjoying it? Is everyone kind to you?"

"Well, there are a few shady characters, I suppose, but so far everyone's been quite lovely. And it's interesting – and important – work, which I like very much." Sam smiled up at Paul.

He returned her smile. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "What brings you by, Sam?"

"Actually, I . . . I wanted to talk to you about something . . . rather important." Already she felt heat rushing up her face.

"Oh. What is it?"

She found it difficult to meet Paul's eyes. "Well, Paul . . . you said . . . you've said now, several times . . . oh, dear. This is harder than I imagined it would be."

"What's the matter, Sam?" he asked, and placed his hand gently on her upper arm. "Are you in any danger?"

"No, no – nothing like that." She waved her hand reassuringly. Although considering her reaction to his touch, she mused, she was in very great danger. "I'm perfectly well. Promise. You've told me before that I'm important to you; you were trying to set my mind at rest. And I appreciate every word. But a few days ago, when you walked me home, the way you said it . . . I wondered if things had changed for you."

Paul's face blanched instantly. "Sam – I'm so sorry. I never meant-"

"Because – I don't know when, but Paul-"

"Sam, I-"

"Please," she implored, reaching for his other hand. "Paul, please – just listen. You told me how you feel and now it's my turn."

He paused, squeezing his eyes shut a moment. Whatever Sam had to say, it would be painful. "All right. I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam waited for his eyes to meet hers again, and took a deep breath to steel herself. "You're very dear to me, Paul. You have been for a long while. I can't imagine you not being a part of life – of my life." She swallowed, and gathered her thoughts. She hadn't really planned this far ahead. But then she remembered one of the first times she'd been confused about her feelings for Paul. "When I was in the hospital and you told me about Edith Ashford – do you remember, she wanted to snatch you up?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I remember."

"For a moment I thought she might've. And I hated it."

Paul's heartbeat quickened. His right hand slid down Sam's arm, and he gathered her hands together in his. Every caress of her fingertips tingled like electric current. It took every ounce of self control he possessed not to pull her closer.

"At the time," Sam forged ahead breathlessly, "I thought it was because your life would necessarily change and we couldn't have the same kind of friendship anymore. But I think it was really because . . . if the inexcusably pretty Edith had snatched you up, I'd never get the chance to see if I could. And maybe I hoped you'd let me, even then."

Paul closed his eyes. "Sam, please." His grip on her hands tightened as he drew them closer to his chest.

But mere words wouldn't put off a determined Sam. He could tell she was about to protest. He also had a pretty good idea of what she'd say, and he couldn't hear her say it. It might crumble every shred of his resolve. "Please," persisted Paul. "For pity's sake." Electricity trailed up his arms, straight to his overjoyed and breaking heart. "Sam, I can't. We can't."

"Give me one good reason," she countered. Sam's eyes flashed, and he couldn't tell if it was enthusiasm or anger. Likely it was a bit of both.

"Because I am a divorced man who's lost a leg and you are a vicar's daughter."

Sam's jaw fell open. She had never before been so revered and so dismissed in one short, devastating sentence.

"I don't care!" she shot back, her tone imploring. "I've never cared; not about your lost leg, and not about your lost marriage. You know that."

"I do." Paul swallowed back the tightness he felt in his throat. Did she understand the depth of his feelings? He had no way of knowing, but at this point he had nothing to lose. "Sam," he told her gravely, "I know. And I know what I want. But I also know that your father would never approve – couldn't, if he wanted to, and I can't imagine that he would."

Sam gave a patient sigh. "Paul, I don't need my father's approval. Certainly not to see who I like, and assuming it comes to it, to marry who I like."

"But you do want his blessing," Paul argued. "You do want your parents to remain a part of your life. I don't have my parents any longer, but you still have yours to consider. It would hurt, Sam. I couldn't stand it if I were the cause of that kind of pain in your life."

Sam exhaled as she looked over Paul, silently contemplating his argument. She knew he was perfectly sincere – he honestly didn't want to cause her any pain. It was noble, certainly, but it would get them nowhere. And why should they both remain simple acquaintances when there was the promise of so much more, because of what he thought her father might do? There was really only one way to allay his fears, and that was to find out what her father would actually do.

"I'll write to him," declared Sam, and she nodded. "Yes. I'm going to work on him. I know how stodgy he can be, but I can't believe – I refuse to believe – that he'd deny me the one thing I'll ever ask him for. I'm his only daughter, and he loves me. Might take some time for him to come round, but he will." Her eyes brightened as she spoke, and the idea sounded better and better.

"Sam." Paul closed his eyes and dropped his head; his hands, with hers still in them, dropped between them.

But Sam was undeterred. "Just as soon as he writes back, I'll stop by again and you'll see. Oh – and before I forget, Paul, I ought to let you know. There's a walking stick in the Wolseley. In the boot."

He lifted his eyes to hers again. "Oh?"

"Yes. I've always kept it, just in case. Ever since you told me that hills and stairs hurt your leg."

Paul was struck dumb for a moment. "You . . . why, Sam?"

Sam huffed impatiently. "Honestly, Paul, if I thought her worth the time I'd hunt down Jane and give her a good smack. The commonest of courtesies seem to confound you and they shouldn't."

Paul couldn't help a chuckle – she bounced from their serious conversation right into the walking stick and back to serious so quickly it made his head spin. And now she seemed perfectly at ease again. "Sam-"

"I'll need to be going," she said. "Of course I'd much rather wait and walk home with you, but Mrs. Goswick is terribly strict about mealtimes. I'll stop by just as soon as I hear from my father, I promise."

The next thing he knew, she's kissed his hands and let go of them. She bid him a good evening and left the station before he realized she'd gone.

Thanks for sticking with me!