The One She Left Behind (Harlequin Super Romance) (13 page)

When he opened his mouth, she wagged a finger at him. “Don’t say it.”

As he pretended to zip his lips, Savannah clung to the last scrap of patience. “In summary, I wouldn’t be opposed to being friendly with you as long as we have an understanding of the rules.”

“Are you done now?”

Not until she turned the tables on him. “I just wanted to add that aside from your innuendo the night after the bar and what happened in the workshop yesterday, you’ve been rather restrained. That would lead me to believe that maybe you’re the one who’s afraid to—”

He moved faster than that proverbial speeding bullet and framed her face in his palms, quelling her words with a kiss. A deep, insistent kiss that didn’t last long enough before he released her and stepped back.

As soon as the mental fog cleared, Savannah firmed her resolve. “You clearly can’t follow the rules.”

“I just don’t like being called a coward.”

She enjoyed a good deal of satisfaction that he wasn’t quite the iron man he pretended to be. “How do you think I felt when you accused me of—”

“It’s my turn to speak, Savannah.”

He sounded so gruff she could only utter, “Okay.”

“Like I told you in the shop yesterday,” he began, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a few fantasies about you. Truth be told, I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you in the diner. If you were wearing a burlap sack, no makeup and your hair was a freakin’ mess, I’d want you. But I want a few other things more.”

Sam stopped only long enough to draw a breath while Savannah patiently waited for him to continue. “I want simple. I want to wake up at sunrise and work the land and I want to go home at sundown to my family. I also want friends I can count on, not people who pretend to be my friends. But I damn sure don’t want complications. So no matter how this plays out between us, I’m not going to let a little lust screw up what I want.”

Savannah couldn’t agree more, but she still had one burning question. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“It seemed like the only way to shut you up.”

He’d done that, and quite well. She was still feeling the effects, particularly in her knees that felt as flimsy as rubber bands. “So you say, but I’m not convinced you won’t do it again if given the opportunity.”

A flicker of anger showed in his eyes. “And I don’t like being on trial while you’re playing judge and jury, ready to convict me for being untrustworthy.”

The next confession could be a killer. “Maybe I don’t trust myself.”

“You’re a strong woman, Savannah,” he said in a lighter tone. “You can do anything you set your mind to. But if you don’t think being friendly with me is worth the risk, then that’s fine. And just so you know, I can control myself. The question is, can you?”

“Daddy! Gracie said she needs some help!”

Savannah spun back around and through the open half door leading to the outside paddock, caught sight of Jamie sprinting back to the house.

“I swear, she’s a master at interruption,” Sam said. “Makes me wonder how people with six-year-olds make other babies.”

She didn’t care to think about making babies, or at least the process of making babies. “I really have to go,” she said as she worked her way around him in order to make a hasty exit.

He caught her arm before she could leave. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Are you going to the festival with us or do we part ways now?”

“I need more time to think.” She couldn’t do that with him staring at her.

He released her and folded his arms across his chest. “I want an answer before you leave this damn barn so I know what to tell my kid.”

Talk about demanding. “If we stay here any longer, Gracie’s going to assume something nefarious is going on.”

“Is that a fancy word for saying she’ll think we’ve been rolling in the hay?”

Boy, did that bring back one heck of a memory. “We did that once, remember? Luckily I could hide the scratches with my clothes.”

Sam streaked both hands down his face, as if trying to erase the recollection. “Kind of hard to forget those times when you’re around.”

Recognizing she’d sufficiently shattered one of her
rules, Savannah added, “Then maybe we should just fondly remember how it used to be between us and leave it at that.”

He picked up the shovel, his expression showing a good deal of frustration. “Fine. If that’s what you want. But you need to make up your mind and stick to it.”

As if she hadn’t been reminding herself of that same thing. “You keep confusing me.”

“You’re confused because deep down you know that you could use a friend. A real friend. Maybe if you keep telling yourself otherwise, you’ll start to believe it.”

Savannah wanted to curse Sam for his candor, for the absolute legitimacy of his words. She did want to be his friend, but she didn’t want the heartache that could result from executing that leap of faith.

As far as the festival went, Savannah probably should stay home, stay away from him. But what she should do warred once again with what she wanted to do. As long as she stayed grounded, and stayed away from situations like this, she saw no real reason not to spend a little more time with Sam and his daughter before she left Placid behind, once and for all.

“Tell Jamie I’ll go.”

B
Y THE TIME EVENING ARRIVED
, Savannah began to wonder if her mother would make it home. When half past eleven rolled around, she bordered on being extremely concerned—until she wandered into the kitchen for a soda and found the note attached to the refrigerator door with a magnet.

No heartfelt endearment. No affectionate closing. Nothing more than a terse explanation of her whereabouts.

Savannah shouldn’t be so surprised, yet she couldn’t deny the little sting of hurt and a good deal of frustration. She’d planned to have the long-delayed talk with her mother, but now that would have to wait another day.

As soon as she finished eating, she decided to take a shower and begin a book she’d been meaning to read for months. But while she bathed, a thought occurred to her. She was alone, and she now had a prime opportunity to investigate the contents of the mysterious sketch pad. Provided she could actually find it.

Dressed in her favorite blue silk nightshirt and a towel turban wound around her damp hair, Savannah returned to the attic where she’d made the initial discovery. She found the box in the same spot on the floor, only this time it had been secured with two rows of tape.

If she had any decency at all, she’d leave it be. Unfortunately, she had too much curiosity to ignore the chance to learn exactly what her mother had been hiding. As soon as she was finished playing detective, she’d reseal the carton and no one would be the wiser.

Savannah dislodged the edge of the tape with her thumbnail, carefully pulled it free and opened the lid. Once more she sorted through the contents, expecting to find the drawings beneath the other items, to no avail. But when had her mother ever done what was expected?

Spent from the day and disappointment, she decided to call off the search for the time being. She resealed the box with the existing tape, headed down the attic staircase and on impulse, paused in the hallway at her mother’s bedroom. If she opened the door on the off chance that she might find the drawings, she would be committing the ultimate invasion of privacy. She might also have some answers.

Not a soul would know, she told herself as she turned the knob and stepped inside. Rows of gray plastic storage bins lined the faded white walls that displayed brighter squares where pictures had once hung. The knickknacks and favorite books had been removed from the shelves and pine dresser, leaving only a lone lamp on the nightstand…and the missing sketch pad.

Ignoring the tiny bite of guilt, Savannah crossed the room, took the pad and sat on the edge of the perfectly made double bed. She studied the first drawing and noticed it carried her mother’s initials and a date that indicated it had been created two months before they’d relocated to Placid. She moved on to the next sketch and the next, soon realizing that according to the descending dates, her mother had started at the back of the pad and worked her way forward.

The first few drawings depicted scenes of flowers and panoramas, a few featured farmland and wildlife. But as the drawings moved back in time, the subject matter seemed more bleak—a stark, gnarled tree standing alone in a field. A house with darkened windows. But the most startling drawing of all had been torn out yet preserved in its original place at the back of the pad.

Large hands with clawlike fingers filled most of the yellowed page. Sinister, scary hands that looked ready to strike. And most disturbing, what appeared to be a small child cowered in the corner of the remaining space, drawn right above the date that showed Ruth had only been twelve years old when she’d created the sketch.

Savannah truly believed that the drawing wasn’t the musings of an imaginative child. In her mind, it conveyed a story of unspeakable abuse, perhaps the only way her mother had been able to express her terror.

Along with a queasy stomach, Savannah now had more questions than answers. Had her mother been the victim depicted in the pictures? Had she witnessed someone else being injured? Had anyone known what she’d suffered?

Savannah couldn’t help but wonder if she finally found the key to her mother’s emotional shutdown when she walked back into this house. Yet if she attempted to find all the answers, she would have to admit to her mother how she’d come by the knowledge. And if she did force an open dialogue, in turn reviving a past that Ruth obviously wanted to forget, she might do more harm to their relationship than good.

For the first time in a long time, Savannah had no idea what to do. She could use some advice, a solid sounding board. Someone who could guide her down the right path.

She could call Jess, but her friend had her own per
sonal problems. The last thing Rachel needed was a late-night call when she was enduring pregnancy fatigue.

Savannah could think of only one other person whom she trusted enough to discuss the discovery.

Sam.

S
OMETHING WAS UP.

In Sam’s experience, no one called the house that close to midnight unless it involved some kind of emergency. Or it could be one of his now-and-again women claiming she had a fire that he needed to be put out, something he didn’t care to deal with at the moment.

He answered with a gruff “Hello,” and a soft voice answered, “It’s me, Sam.”

“Me,” meaning the only woman who’d been on his mind of late, and the reason why he’d been restless for the past hour. He figured she was about to say she wasn’t going to the festival tomorrow. Maybe even to announce she’d decided to go back to Chicago. If that happened to be the case, he’d deal with it. “What do you need, Savannah?”

“Remember when I told you something was going on with my mother?”

Something was always going on with her mother. “Yeah.”

“I think I know what she didn’t want me to see. I found it in her bedroom.” She sighed. “I’m probably jumping to conclusions, so go back to sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As if he could really sleep now. “Why don’t you tell me what you found and I’ll let you know what I think?”

“It’s a drawing. A really strange drawing. She used to sketch years ago.”

He’d never pegged Ruth Greer as an artist, but nothing surprised him these days. “What do you mean by strange?”

“It’s frightening and I believe it has something to do with her past.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“I can’t. She’s spending the night in town. I know it sounds crazy, but you’d have to see it to understand why I’m so concerned.”

That was a suggestion worth jumping all over. A chance to show her the kind of friend he could be. The kind of man he was. “I’ll come by and take a look.”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s late and you have to be up early.”

He tucked the receiver between his chin and shoulder and grabbed his jeans from the bedpost. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Without giving Savannah a chance to argue, Sam hung up the phone, shrugged into his jeans and a T-shirt and yanked on his boots, then headed out the door. He considered going to her place by foot before deciding to take the new truck to save time. He climbed inside the cab, turned on the ignition but not the headlights so he wouldn’t wake his dad. Like the diesel engine wasn’t loud enough to disturb the whole town.

Damn, if he wasn’t acting like an anxious kid sneaking out of the house on his way to a forbidden rendezvous
with his girl. But Savannah wasn’t “his girl.” She was all woman, and only a friend. On the one hand, he welcomed having her friendship again. On the other, he still worried about getting too close to her. But he’d always been willing to take a few risks, even when the outcome might not turn out the way he’d planned. And as sure as he knew every last acre of the family farm, one thing remained true—in a matter of days, he’d probably never see her again. All the more reason to take advantage of the time they had left and deal with the fallout later.

Sam made it to the Greers’ place in a matter of minutes and after he pulled up to the house, he found Savannah waiting for him on the front porch. She wore a shapeless navy T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, but with her damp hair hanging down in soft waves, no makeup on her face or shoes on her feet, she could’ve walked right out of his past—or his dreams.

As Sam approached the porch, Savannah didn’t move an inch. At one time she would’ve hurried down the steps and thrown her arms around him. Tonight, she didn’t seem all that glad to see him. At least not as glad as he was to see her, something he intended to keep to himself.

After he scaled the wooden stairs, Savannah held out a piece of paper. “This is it.”

Sam took the page and dropped down onto the glider to study the sketch. He agreed that it wasn’t something a young girl would normally draw. “You’re right. It’s weird.”

“It’s more than weird,” she said as she sat beside him.
“I think she’s sending some kind of message. Either someone hurt her or she saw someone being hurt.”

He handed the page back to her. “Maybe it was some kind of art project.”

“More like art therapy,” she said. “I just can’t imagine a child creating something like this unless they had personal knowledge of the subject.”

He leaned back against the glider. “Any theories as to who might have inspired her?”

She shifted slightly to face him. “What do you know about her stepfather, Don Leland?”

Sam shook his head. “Not a whole lot other than my grandfather used to say the man was a worthless drunk.”

“Aunt May mentioned the drinking to me,” she said. “And if he became violent when he drank, then it’s possible he hurt my mother, right?”

He draped an arm over the back of the glider. “Yeah, it’s possible, and so are a lot of other things. Again, you need to—”

“Ask my mother,” she interrupted. “I plan to try, but I doubt I’ll get very far.”

“And if you don’t, then you’ll just have to accept it and let Ruth have her secrets, especially if they’re too painful to talk about.” He knew all about that concept.

She stood and began walking the length of the porch. “Painful or not, she needs to talk about it. I suspect that’s been her problem all along when it comes to bottling up her emotions.”

And Savannah had definitely suffered for that, something he’d witnessed firsthand. When she didn’t seem to want to settle down, Sam formulated a plan that might
help. “Do you want to go to bed?” Man, if that hadn’t come out all wrong.

The serious glare she aimed like a rifle at him said she thought so, too. “You’re just going to ignore everything I said earlier, aren’t you?”

Nope, he wasn’t. “I meant do you want me to get out of here so you can get some sleep.”

Her hostile expression slowly disappeared. “Actually, I’m not sure I can sleep right now.”

“Then I have an idea that might help with that.” When he came to his feet, she took a step back. “Relax. I’m not going to throw you over my shoulder, carry you inside and have my way with you.” Even if that did sound like a win-win idea.

She tried not to smile but failed. “Okay, then what do you have in mind? A glass of warm milk with a shot of whiskey? Maybe weight lifting? We could jog into town and be back before dawn.”

Damn if she wasn’t still as sassy—and sexy—as ever. “Let’s go for a drive.”

S
AVANNAH HAD NO IDEA
what had motivated her to get in a truck and take off with Sam. She really questioned her sanity when he turned off the main road and onto the familiar road, and she didn’t say a word to stop him. She questioned Sam’s judgment when she noticed several No Trespassing signs posted on either side of the smooth-wire fence bordering the path to Potter’s Pond. That could explain why she hadn’t seen one vehicle in what once had been the town’s most popular gathering place for young lovers.

“What are we doing here, Sam?” she asked as he turned to the left and headed toward their one-time favorite site beneath the ancient oak that predictably carried their initials. A blatant violation of the rules she’d set out earlier that day.

“Just thought this might be a good place to unwind.”

“But we agreed not to—”

“Discuss the pond,” he interjected. “We never said we couldn’t visit the place.”

Leave it to Sam to find a loophole. She afforded him a glance in time to see his killer smile. “Perhaps I should amend the terms of the agreement.”

“Maybe you should remember we had some of our best talks here.”

“I don’t recall much talking taking place.” She did recall all those nights when they’d come here on a regular basis to escape everyday life in each other’s arms.

“There’s always a first time for everything,” he said without taking his eyes off the makeshift road.

“Did you not notice all those warning signs?”

“Yeah. Someone’s trying to keep kids out of the place.”

“Which means we shouldn’t be here, either.”

“We’re not kids.”

Very twisted reasoning as far as Savannah was concerned. “I must’ve missed the one that said Keep Out Unless You’re Over Thirty.”

Sam barked out a laugh. “I can almost guarantee the new owner is safely in bed in his multimillion dollar mansion and not at all concerned about us or what we do on his land.”

She didn’t have to inquire over the new owner’s identity, but she did anyway. “Let me guess. Wainwright bought the pond.”

“You guessed right.” Sam stopped beneath the tree, shifted the truck into gear and switched off the ignition. “He plans to build an RV park to draw people traveling north and south between Jackson and Memphis.”

“Isn’t it kind of off the beaten path?” she asked.

He draped his arm over the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. “Yeah, but if it works, it’ll be good for the local economy.”

And bad in terms of continuing a tradition. “I suppose you’re right, but in a way it’s a shame. This old pond holds a lot of history.” A lot of their history.

“Do you want to get out and sit a spell to say our official goodbye?” he asked.

“You didn’t give me a chance to put on my shoes.”

He finally looked at her. “You never minded going barefoot before.”

“My feet were much tougher before. Besides, we don’t have any lawn chairs and I really don’t want to sit on the ground.”

He hooked a thumb behind him. “I have a blanket in the backseat.”

That conjured up all sorts of images of the last time she’d been on a blanket with him. “How convenient,” she said. “Do you routinely have midnight picnics out here with your lady friends, hence the blanket in the backseat?”

“I keep it on hand in case I break down and have to sleep in my truck.”

A plausible explanation, if Savannah chose to trust him. More important, did she trust herself on a blanket with Sam? “Maybe we should just stay in the truck.”

“And miss getting a better look at that?” He pointed at the panorama stretched out before them.

The full moon hovered high above the horizon, casting the water in a shimmering blue glow that contrasted with the inky sky. Several times Savannah had witnessed this same occurrence over Lake Michigan and although she couldn’t deny the beauty in it, the Chicago city lights somehow defused the effect.

Admittedly, she would greatly enjoy soaking up the scenery seated on a blanket, as long as she remained upright. Not willing to borrow that kind of trouble, she unbuckled her seat belt and said, “Let’s sit on the hood like we used to do.”

“Works for me.”

Being shoeless didn’t work at all for Savannah. Sam, on the other hand, happened to be wearing a pair of heavy boots designed to thwart burrs and rocks and any living thing that might be lurking in the grass. “You better hope I don’t step on a snake when I get out of this truck,” she called to him as he slid out of the driver’s seat.

Savannah barely had her door open before Sam was right there, scooping her into his arms as if she weighed little more than a cotton ball. She laughed from being caught by surprise, from sheer giddiness when he deposited her onto the hood. “Thanks for being my own personal pack mule and saving my feet,” she said as he claimed the spot beside her.

“You’re welcome.”

Despite her solemn vow not to remember, as she took in the scenery, thoughts of days gone by unfolded in Savannah’s mind. Life had been so easy back then, filled with excitement and anticipation and moments of sheer joy.

“We had some good times here, didn’t we?” she said without regard to the self-imposed regulations for continuing their relationship.

“Some great times,” Sam added. “We could’ve set the back forty on fire. I barely had the truck stopped before we were all over each other.”

He said the last line in a rough, sexy voice, and Savannah felt the impact as if he’d launched a sensory grenade. More scenes invaded her brain, some of which would make a statue blush. Clothes flying, bodies entwined, long, slow kisses, provocative touches.

She chose to defuse the recollections with humor. “Considering the way we used to go at it, you would’ve thought we’d invented making out. At least hanging out here saved you some money since we rarely went out on official dates.”

He frowned. “I bought you plenty of burgers at Stan’s.”

She tapped her chin and pretended to think. “Oh, and I forgot that you took me to a movie in Jackson twice in four years.”

“I sprung for a bottle of cheap wine that one night.”

One night she didn’t care to remember. “While we’re at it, let’s not forget the expense of the condom you always carried in your wallet.”

“Before I stopped doing that when we both found out what that does to latex.”

Savannah was immediately thrust back to the summer before their senior year, when Sam had returned from a two-week baseball camp in Vicksburg. Her parents had been in town with friends that night, and she and Sam had barely made it to her bedroom. It had been a frantic, fiery session of lovemaking resulting in a broken condom—an accident in the making.

“Fortunately the pregnancy scare was only a false alarm,” she said.

Sam sat forward, arms resting on his knees as he studied the ground. “Yeah, real fortunate.”

His sullen tone completely threw Savannah. “Nothing like learning our lesson the hard way,” she added.

He leaned back against the windshield and stacked his hands behind his head. “I don’t think we learned a damn thing. I remember another couple of times when we weren’t all that careful.”

So did Savannah, and she’d always wondered if on some subconscious level she’d wanted to get pregnant. “That still didn’t stop your penchant for parking.”

“And I don’t recall you ever turning me down.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” she conceded.

Sam looked sufficiently smug. “I rest my case.”

“Hey, I’m the attorney, so stop stealing my lines.”

When she playfully slapped at his arm, he caught her hand and held it firmly in his grasp. “Looks like you’re still bent on bruising me even after all this time.”

She needed to wrest her hand away. Needed not to react so strongly to his touch, to the memories. “I never
bruised you, Sam.” Her voice sounded slightly shaky, and oh, how she hated that reaction.