Red Curtains

by Leanna Sain

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Leanna Sain

  Red Curtains

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Dear Readers,

  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

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Minnie’s Garlic Lime Chicken

  Minnie’s Lasagna

  Minnie’s Home-Made Granola Bars

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Head tucked down so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone, I barreled out of the building and crashed headlong into someone who shouldn’t have been there. The impact was so unexpected and so solid, I lost my balance and would’ve fallen if the obstacle hadn’t reached out a strong hand and grabbed my arm.

  “Are you okay?” the low, anxious voice asked.

  No! I’m mortified! I wanted to scream. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. So sorry.” I brushed away his concern and his hand, too embarrassed to actually look at him as I hurried away. My cheeks were on fire. I prayed for the ground to open up and swallow me, but it didn’t.

  When I’d put enough distance between us, I chanced a look over my shoulder, and groaned when I saw him still staring after me. “Of course, he’s Adonis personified. Just my luck.” I was too far away to read his expression. Probably wondering how I’d escaped from my straight jacket. Finally, he reached down and picked up the notebook he’d dropped when I crashed into him, and turned back to the cluster of students standing beside a bike rack. Hopefully, I’d never see him again.

  Praise for Leanna Sain

  “The seductive setting of Savannah and a captivating cast of characters combine in this rollicking, fast-paced novel. RED CURTAINS has everything that makes for a good read—suspense, mystery, humor, charm, and a delightful dose of romance!”

  ~Cassandra King, author of Moonrise

  ~*~

  “A tale of intrigue, romance, and suspense…will draw you into the story and keep you there until the very last word.”

  ~Carol Heilman,

  author of Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar

  ~*~

  “…Sain is a terrific storyteller. Her pitch-perfect character voice and ability to pack her story with twists and turns will keep readers anxiously turning the pages.”

  ~Rose Senehi, author of Dancing on Rocks

  Red Curtains

  by

  Leanna Sain

  A G.R.I.T.S. Novel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Red Curtains

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Leanna Sain

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1010-7

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1011-4

  A G.R.I.T.S. Novel

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my writing group,

  Weavers of Words (aka—WOW):

  Ann, Carol, Karin and Judy.

  I love you all.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my husband for his support and encouragement in my writing. If it weren’t for him this book probably wouldn’t have ever been written. It was his brilliant suggestion that landed us in Savannah, GA (one of my new favorite places) for our 26th anniversary, which is where I saw “Lily” and the seed of this story sprouted.

  Thanks to my readers for their patience in waiting for my books (sorry it takes so long) and their enthusiastic response when each one is finally released.

  Thanks to the great folks at TWRP, and my wonderful editor, Ally. It was worth the wait to have finally found you. Here’s hoping it’s a “happily ever after” situation.

  Most importantly, I thank God for giving me another story to tell and the words to tell it.

  Dear Readers,

  Get ready to enjoy your first “bowl” of GRITS. Confused? Let me explain. I’m not talking about “stone-ground dried hominy, slow-cooked in water or milk and served piping hot with a pat or two of butter.” No, in this case I’m referring to the acronym for: Girls-Raised-In-The-South. As is the case with each of my novels (except WISH), I create main characters who are strong, creative, successful Southern women—GRITS, if you will. No, they’re not perfect, but they grow and overcome some pretty big obstacles, coming out stronger and more confident at the end. I didn’t really plan a series; it sort of just happened that way. Personally, I think the characters wanted the series even more than I did. I had no choice but to give in and let them have their way.

  In this book, I’ll take you to my new favorite place…Savannah, Georgia. I discovered this wonderful historically rich city a few years ago when my husband and I celebrated our anniversary there, and I fell in love with it. Researching this novel was pure joy. I love history, and that’s something Savannah practically oozes.

  Unfortunately, Savannah is plagued with the same problem facing so many cities today: homelessness. Researching those kinds of statistics was heartbreaking and made me wonder what I could do to help. One thing is to make people more aware of the problem by writing about it, but even more than that, I’ve decided to donate a percentage of Red Curtains’ sales to the Stand Down program that I mention in the story. It may just be a drop in the bucket of what’s needed, but I’m sure every little bit will help. Who knows, maybe reading about it will encourage others to help in some small way, too.

  I alternate points of view between Cleo, Jonas, and Lily. Each chapter will tell you from whose eyes we’re viewing the story.

  So here’s your “bowl” of GRITS. Pull up a chair, dig in and enjoy!

  Blessings,

  Leanna

  Chapter One

  Cleo

  RRRRIINNGGG.

  The jangling bell sent a jolt of adrenalin through the entire classroom, turning glazed-over zombies into explosions of energy.

  “Happy holidays,” Dr. Hudson shouted over the sudden melee.

  Laptops snapped closed, backpacks zipped, and bits of conversation and laughter fluttered around me like confetti.

  “Who you gonna use for the project?”

  “Oh, I’ve had that lined up since he first assigned—”

&n
bsp; “—easy “A.” Using my sister’s kid. Hey, hand me that paper, will you? They’re getting her a puppy for Christmas. I’ll get extra points for sheer cuteness.”

  “—got it covered. Don’t forget. Moon River tonight.”

  “Right. See you there.”

  “—no, the parents have booked another cruise. Jamaica, this time. I’ll use someone on the ship for a model.”

  “Lucky dog! We never go anywhere.”

  “Gotta jet. One more exam—”

  “D’you see it?” The gruff, male voice asked right behind me.

  “You mean the sweater?”

  My ears perked up. Sweater? Were they talking about—?

  A low growl of laughter followed. “Did I? What do you think has kept me awake for the last hour?”

  “Yeah…Santa’s little helper.” Another suggestive laugh. “She can sit it my lap anytime she wants.”

  Yep. That’s who I thought they were talking about. Ellie Hampton…my nemesis. From the time she strutted into class wearing four-inch heels, a tiny leather skirt, and a skin-tight crimson sweater edged with fake white fur and a neckline cut clear down to there, the Y-chromosomal half of class had spent the entire hour gawking at that indecent amount of flesh she was exposing. How very Christmas-y. Like the guy said, she was a regular “Santa’s little helper.” The Playboy bunny version, that is.

  As if she could hear my thoughts, she turned, gave me a wink, and blew a mocking kiss in my general direction before surging forward, elbowing her way through the crowd to reach her latest conquest. With a sick feeling, I watched her link her arm through his and press against him, an action that sent twin mounds of flesh oozing up, and nearly overflowing her neckline. The guy’s tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth. I was afraid he’d trip on it.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I shook my head in disgust. No time to worry about him, though. The last student just exited the classroom.

  I grabbed my backpack, and stumbled toward my teacher with what I hoped was a confident demeanor. I also hoped he couldn’t hear my heart banging noisily in my chest. “Dr. Hudson?”

  He glanced up from his computer looking very “professor-ish” with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. I could see the blue light from the screen reflecting in them. “What can I do for you, Miss Davis?”

  “Um…” Don’t say “um.” It doesn’t exude confidence, and you need to appear confident. “It’s about the assignment…the one you assigned for Christmas break?”

  His eyes invited me to continue.

  “Um,” I croaked, fighting the urge to smack my forehead. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit of a problem for me.”

  His bushy eyebrows looked like fat gray caterpillars when they rose in silent question.

  “Not the paintings, themselves, sir. It’s finding the model that’s going to be the challenge.”

  The caterpillars drew together, a crease forming between them. “That shouldn’t be an issue. As I told the class, you’re welcome to use a friend as a model for the assignment.”

  I tried not to wince. “I don’t have many friends, sir.”

  That wasn’t entirely accurate. I didn’t have any friends.

  The crease deepened. “I’m sure that’s not the case, but family members are also potential candidates. It doesn’t matter as long as your work fits the parameters. You’ll need to do four to six paintings for me using the same model for each one, and they need to tell a story. The class is Advanced Illustration, after all. I should be able to “read” your story by looking at your paintings.”

  “I know all that, but—”

  “Miss Davis.” His voice was suddenly stern. “You do realize the importance of this assignment, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

  I sighed. “The project counts fifty percent of my grade. If I fail it, I fail the course. If I fail the course, I won’t graduate in May.”

  He nodded. “Right. Now listen to me. I’ve been teaching here at the Savannah College of Art and Design for thirty years, and you are one of the most talented students I’ve ever had. I’m expecting you to excel at this. Not just complete the assignment; excel. Don’t let me down.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled in defeat. I’m sure he meant his words to be encouraging, but I was having a hard time seeing them that way. I turned to leave, shrugging the straps of my backpack onto my shoulders. It felt like it was filled with fifty pounds of rocks.

  “Miss Davis!” Dr. Hudson called just before I reached the door.

  I paused and glanced over my shoulder.

  “Have a good Christmas!”

  My smile felt stiff, but it was the best I could do. “You too, sir.” I answered in a tone that belied the words, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes had already returned to his computer screen. “Christmas, shmistmas,” I muttered to myself as I trudged out into the hall. “I’m doomed.”

  I had to make a detour to the women’s restroom before leaving the building. A quick glance under each stall let me know I had the place to myself. Good. I wasn’t up to small talk or the uncomfortable silence of ignoring someone standing at the next sink while I washed my hands. Just as I slid the latch, though, I heard the door swish open, and my heart sank. I wasn’t alone after all. I barely stifled a disappointed groan. That would’ve been embarrassing. A groan wasn’t a sound one wanted to hear in a public restroom.

  I waited an inordinately long time, hoping whoever it was would do her thing and leave. No such luck. What the heck was she doing? Okay. No way to avoid it. I couldn’t hide in the stall any longer. I’d give my hands a quick wash and make my escape.

  My spirits plummeted the instant I saw who it was. Ellie. Just my luck. I should’ve stayed in the stall. I briefly considered stepping back and re-latching the door, but she’d already seen me. No choice now. I stepped up to the sink, and eyed the counter. It looked like an Avon lady’s bag had exploded. Mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, foundation, eye-shadow…you name it, she had it piled up in front of her. My eyes met hers in the mirror. It took conscience effort to keep my eyes from drifting downward. I was afraid I’d have a front row seat to a wardrobe malfunction. Sort of like NASCAR fans waiting for a wreck to happen in a big race. Don’t kid yourself. That’s why they’re there. Why else watch a bunch of cars circle endlessly for hours?

  The amount of makeup Ellie was wearing would’ve lasted me a year. If she were a guy, I’d say she was readying herself for a drag queen competition. I almost offered to let her use my palette knife, but wasn’t sure she’d get the jibe.

  “Hi, Cleo,” she chirped.

  “Ellie.” I hoped she’d just let me wash my hands and go, but of course this was Ellie. There was no way that would happen.

  “How many times do I have to remind you? It’s Elle, not Ellie.” Her eyes flashed daggers at me. “Elle…like the magazine.”

  “—like the magazine,” my voice blended with hers. “Sorry, I keep forgetting,” I lied, not sorry at all, and I hadn’t forgotten. She’d been “Ellie” when I met her my first day at my new school, eleven years ago when I’d moved to Savannah. We’d been friends then—something I had sorely needed. Her mother was nearly as hateful as my aunt, and that made us kindred spirits…until middle school, right after her parents’ divorce. That’s when she’d changed, and it was more than just her name. I still remember the way she’d said it. It should’ve given me a clue. “Elle,” she’d whispered seductively, hand on her hip. “…like the magazine, like the supermodel.” Then she swept her head around so her hair cascaded over her shoulder in slow motion. True story. That’s when she’d turned into a man-eating monster, someone girls avoided when possible and endured when they couldn’t. I never stopped calling her Ellie, though, because I knew it made her mad. “Do you have your model lined up for Dr. Hudson’s assignment?” I asked, just for something to say.

  “Oh, yeah,” she answered with a wicked gleam in
her eyes. “Bob,” she sighed. “This is going to be a fun project.”

  “Uh,” I winced. “I’m not sure nude paintings are exactly what the teacher had in mind, Ellie.”

  “Elle!” she corrected, her voice clearly irritated. “And I didn’t see that as one of the stipulations on the list he gave us, so don’t worry about it.”

  “Whatever.” Figured. Ellie went after anything male. It didn’t matter the color; it didn’t matter the age. Heck, it probably didn’t even matter the species.

  “Just making a few touch-ups before my date with Adam.”

  “You mean, Bob, right?”

  She laughed like I’d just told the funniest joke ever. “No. Bob’s my model for the assignment. My date is with Adam.”

  I clamped my lips together. Let it go, Cleo. Just let it go.

  “Don’t you just love the color of this eyeshadow?” she quipped, changing the subject. She needed to work on her segue. “This one’s Frappuccino Mist, and this is Coffee Bean,” she pointed at each in turn with the applicator. “I watched a YouTube video that shows exactly how to get this sultry effect. I think I’ve nailed it, don’t you? You know Adam, right? Oh…maybe you don’t. I’d introduce you, but you’re not his type. He’s more into the “bend and snap” kind of girl.”

  Good to know. I was back to trying to ignore her, hoping she’d take the hint and leave me alone. I scrubbed my hands, hurriedly rinsing them off.

  She didn’t. Take the hint, I mean.

  “You know…“bend and snap?” from the movie, ‘Legally Blonde’?”

  Please don’t demonstrate it…please don’t…please.

  “Like this.” She bent over from the waist, bringing the tiny leather skirt dangerously close to revealing that which shouldn’t be revealed, then she whipped back into an upright position, thrusting her Dolly Parton-like breasts forward with her hands up on either side of them, framing them, like they needed any other attention-getting device.

  Then she did it again, just to make doubly sure I got it. Once she was upright, her eyes rested on my chest with a pitying expression. “I don’t think that technique would work with you, though. You have to have something to “snap.” Jeez, Cleo…I’ve seen adolescent boys who have more up top than you do,” she laughed. “Have you grown any since we met? Maybe that’s why Darren…oh, what was his last name?”