Looking for a Hero

by Debbie Macomber

  He waited a few more minutes, wanting to be sure she hadn’t drifted off to sleep. “We should talk.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I thought about that, too.”

  “And?”

  “I planned on discussing things with you, reassessing the issues, that sort of thing.”

  “Why didn’t you?” He couldn’t help being curious.

  He felt her lips move in a smile. “When the time came, all I wanted was you.”

  His chest rose with an abundance of fierce male pride. “I wanted you, too.”

  Serenity surrounded him and he sank into its warmth.

  “Should we talk now?” Savannah asked after a while.

  The last thing Nash wanted right this minute was a lengthy conversation about their marriage. Words would destroy the tranquillity, and these moments were too precious to waste.

  “This doesn’t have to change anything, if you don’t want it to,” he murmured, rubbing his chin over her head, loving the silky feel of her hair.

  Savannah went still, and he wondered if he’d said something wrong. “You’re content with our arrangement the way it is?” she asked.

  “For now I am. We don’t have to make any decisions tonight, do we?”

  “No,” she agreed readily.

  “Then relax and go back to sleep.” His eyes drifted shut as he savored this closeness.

  “Nash.”

  “Hmm?”

  “It was nothing like I expected,” she told him.

  “Better, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes.” And then she kissed him.

  * * *

  Don and Janice Griffin’s meeting before Judge Wilcox was scheduled for two in the afternoon. Nash was well prepared for this final stage of the divorce proceedings.

  Don Griffin arrived at his office an hour early and—in what was fast becoming a habit—started pacing the room.

  “I’m ready anytime you are,” his client said.

  “If we leave now, we’ll end up sitting outside in the hallway,” Nash told him.

  “I don’t care. I want this over with as quickly and cleanly as possible, understand?”

  “That message came through loud and clear,” Nash assured him. “Settle down and relax, will you?”

  Don thrust both hands into his hair. “Relax? Are you crazy, man? You might’ve gone through this a thousand times, but it’s almost thirty years of my life we’re throwing out the window. The stress is getting to me.”

  “What’s this I hear about putting a divorce special on your restaurants’ menu?” Nash asked in an effort to take the older man’s mind off the coming proceedings. “Anyone who comes into any of your restaurants the day his divorce is final eats for free.”

  “That’s right, and I’d rather you didn’t say anything derogatory about it. I’ve met a number of men just like me. Some of ’em married twenty, thirty years and all of a sudden it’s gone. Poof. Suddenly they’re lost and alone and don’t know what to do with the rest of their lives.”

  “I’m not going to say anything negative. I think it’s a generous thing you’re doing.”

  Don Griffin eyed him as if he wasn’t sure he should believe that.

  When they arrived at the courtroom, Mr. Griffin and Nash took their seats behind one table. Janice Griffin and Tony Pound sat behind the other. Nash noticed the way Don stole a look at his almost ex-wife. Next, he caught a glimpse of Janice looking at Don. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen countless times before. One last look, so to speak, before the ties were severed. A farewell. An acceptance that it was soon to be over—the end was within sight. This marriage was about to breathe its last breath.

  Judge Wilcox entered the room and everyone stood. In a crisp, businesslike manner, he asked a series of questions of each party. Janice responded, her voice shaking. Don answered, sounding like a condemned man. They sat back down and the final decree was about to be pronounced when Nash vaulted out of his seat.

  For a moment he didn’t know what had forced him into action. “If you’ll pardon me, Your Honor,” he said, with his back to his client, “I’d like to say a few words.”

  He could hear Tony begin to object. Nash didn’t give him the opportunity.

  “My client doesn’t want this divorce, and neither does his wife.”

  A string of hot words erupted behind him as Tony Pound flew out of his chair. The judge’s gavel pounded several times, the noise deafening.

  “Your Honor, if you’ll indulge me for just a moment.”

  No one was more surprised than Nash when he was given permission. “Proceed.”

  “My client has been married for almost thirty years. He made a mistake, Your Honor. Now, he’ll be the first to admit it was a foolish, stupid mistake. But he’s human and so is his wife. They’ve both paid dearly for this blunder and it seems to me they’ve paid enough.”

  He turned to face Janice Griffin, who was shredding a tissue in her hand. “You’ve made mistakes in your life, too, haven’t you, Mrs. Griffin?”

  Janice lowered her gaze and nodded.

  “You can’t cross-examine my client,” Pound yelled.

  Nash ignored him, and thankfully so did Judge Wilcox.

  “My client has loved his wife and family for nearly thirty years. He still loves her. I saw the way he looked at Mrs. Griffin when she walked into the courtroom. I also saw the way she looked at him. These two people care deeply for each other. They’ve been driven apart by their pain and their pride. Thirty years is a very long time out of a person’s life, and I don’t believe anyone should be in a rush to sign it away.”

  “Your Honor, I find this outburst extremely unprofessional,” Tony Pound protested.

  Nash didn’t dare turn around.

  “Don Griffin has suffered enough for his indiscretion. Mrs. Griffin has been through enough agony, too. It’s time to think about rebuilding lives instead of destroying them.”

  There wasn’t a sound in the courtroom. Having had his say, Nash returned to his seat.

  Judge Wilcox held his gavel with both hands. “Is what Mr. Davenport said true, Mr. Griffin? Do you love your wife?”

  Don Griffin rose slowly to his feet. “A thousand times more than I thought possible.”

  “Mrs. Griffin?”

  She, too, stood, her eyes watering, her lips trembling. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge glared at them both and set down the gavel. “Then I suggest you try to reconcile your differences and stop wasting the court’s time.”

  Nash gathered together the papers he’d removed from his briefcase and slipped them back inside. Don Griffin walked behind him and was met halfway by his wife. From his peripheral vision, Nash watched as Janice Griffin, sobbing, walked into her husband’s arms. They held on to each other, weeping and laughing and kissing all at once.

  Not bad for an afternoon’s work, Nash decided.

  He picked up his briefcase and walked out of the courtroom. He hadn’t taken two steps when Tony Pound joined him.

  “That was quite a little drama you put on just now.”

  “I couldn’t see two people who were obviously in love end their marriage,” Nash said. They marched side by side through the halls of justice.

  “It’s true, then,” Tony commented.

  “What is?”

  “That you’ve lost your edge, that killer instinct you’re famous for. I have to admit I’m glad to see it. People said it’d happen when they learned you were married, but no one expected it to be this soon. Whoever took you on as a husband must be one heck of a woman.”

  Nash smiled to himself. “She is.”

  “It doesn’t look like I’ll be seeing you in court all that often.”

  “Probably not. I’m not taking on any new divorce cases.”

  * * *

  “
Dad, what an unexpected surprise,” Savannah said, delighted that her father had decided to drop in at her store. He didn’t visit often and his timing was perfect. She was about to take a break, sit down and rest her leg. “How’s Mom?”

  “Much better,” he said, pulling out a chair as Savannah poured him a cup of coffee.

  “Good.”

  “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

  Savannah poured herself a cup and joined him. Her mother had made impressive progress in the past six weeks. Savannah called and visited often, and several times Nash had accompanied her. Joyce was growing stronger each day. She was often forgetful and that frustrated her, but otherwise she was recuperating nicely.

  “I thought it’d be a good idea if I talked to you first,” her father said.

  “About what?”

  “Your mother and I traveling.”

  It was the welcome news she’d been waiting to hear. At the same time it was the dreaded announcement that would end the happiest days of her life.

  “I think you should travel. I always have.”

  “I was hoping to take your mother south. We might even look for a place to buy.”

  “Arizona,” she suggested, raising the cup to her lips. “Mom’s always loved the Southwest.”

  “The sunshine will do her good,” her father agreed.

  Savannah didn’t know how she’d be able to pull this off, when she felt like she was dying on the inside. Over the years she’d become proficient at disguising her pain. Pain made others uncomfortable, so she’d learned to live with it.

  “You wouldn’t object to our going?” Her father didn’t often sound hesitant but he did now.

  “Of course I don’t! I want you to travel and enjoy your retirement years. I’ve got Nash now, so there’s no need to worry about me. None whatsoever.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Dad! Go and enjoy yourselves,” Savannah said and managed to laugh.

  Three hours later, she sat in the middle of Nash’s living room, staring aimlessly into space. All that was left now was the waiting—that, and telling him....

  Nash got home shortly after six. His eyes were triumphant as he marched into the house. “Savannah,” he said, apparently delighted to see her. “You didn’t work late tonight.”

  “No,” she responded simply.

  He lifted her off the sofa as if she weighed nothing and twirled her around. “I had the most incredible day.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Good. We’ll celebrate.” Tucking his arm beneath her knees, he started for the bedroom. He stopped abruptly when he saw her suitcase sitting at the end of the hallway. His eyes were filled with questions as they met hers.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  She nodded. “My parents have decided to take an extended trip south.”

  “So?”

  “So, according to the terms of our marriage agreement, I’m moving back into my own home.”

  Thirteen

  “You’re moving out just like that?” Nash asked, lowering her feet to the ground. He stepped away from her as if he needed to put some distance between them. His eyes narrowed and he studied her, his expression shocked.

  Savannah hadn’t expected him to look at her like that. This was what they’d decided in the beginning, it was what he said he wanted after the first time they’d made love. She’d asked, wanting to be clear on exactly what her role in his life was to be, and Nash had said that making love changed nothing.

  “This shouldn’t come as a surprise,” she said, struggling to keep her voice as even as possible.

  “Is it what you want?” He thrust his hands deep inside his pockets and glared at her icily.

  “Well?” he demanded when she didn’t immediately answer.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m keeping my end of the bargain. What do you want me to do?”

  Nash gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’m not going to hold you prisoner here against your wishes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  That wasn’t what she was asking. She wanted some indication that he loved her and wanted her living with him. Some indication that he intended to throw out their stupid prenuptial agreement and make this marriage real. Apparently Nash wasn’t interested.

  “When are your parents leaving?”

  “Friday morning, at dawn.”

  “So soon?”

  She nodded. “Dad wanted to wait until Mom was strong enough to travel comfortably...and evidently she is now.”

  “I see.” Nash wandered into the kitchen. “So you’re planning to move out right away?”

  “I...thought I’d take some clothes over to my house this evening.”

  “You certainly seem to be in a rush.”

  “Not really. I’ve managed to bring quite a few of my personal things here. I...imagine you’ll want me out as quickly as possible.” The smallest sign that he loved her would be enough to convince her to stay. A simple statement of need. A word. A look. Anything.

  Nash offered nothing.

  He opened the refrigerator and took out a cold soda, popping it open.

  “I started dinner while I was waiting for you,” she said. “The casserole’s in the oven.”

  Nash took a long swallow of his soda. “I appreciate the effort, but I don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”

  Savannah didn’t, either. Calmly she walked over and turned off the oven. She stood with her back to Nash and bit her lip.

  What a romantic fool she was, hoping the impossible would happen. She’d known when she agreed to marry him that it would be like this. He was going to break her heart. She’d tried to protect herself from exactly this, but it hadn’t worked.

  These past few weeks had been the happiest of her life and nothing he said now would take them away from her. He loved her, she knew he did, as much as it was possible for Nash to love anyone. He’d never said the words, but he didn’t need to. She felt them when she slept in his arms. She experienced them each time they made love.

  Her heart constricted with fresh pain. She didn’t want to leave Nash, but she couldn’t stay, not unless he specifically asked, and it was clear he had no intention of doing so.

  She heard him leave the room, which was just as well since she was having a hard time not breaking into tears.

  She was angry then. Unfortunately there wasn’t a door to slam or anything handy to throw. Having a temper tantrum was exactly what she felt like doing.

  Dinner was a waste. She might as well throw the whole thing in the garbage. Opening the oven door, she reached inside and grabbed the casserole dish.

  Intense, unexpected pain shot through her fingers as she touched the dish.

  She cried out and jerked her hand away. Stumbling toward the sink, she held her fingers under cold running water.

  “Savannah?” Nash rushed into the kitchen. “What happened?”

  “I’m all right,” she said, fighting back tears by taking deep breaths. If she was lucky, her fingers wouldn’t blister, but she seemed to be out of luck lately.

  “What happened?” Nash demanded again.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, not wanting to answer him because that required concentration and effort, and all she could think of at the moment was pain. Physical pain. Emotional agony. The two were intermingled until she didn’t know where one stopped and the other started.

  “Let me look at what you’ve done,” he said, moving close to her.

  “No,” Savannah said, jerking her arm away from him. “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “Leave me alone,” she cried, sobbing openly now, her shoulders heaving. “Just leave me alone. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m your husband.”

 
She whirled on him, unintentionally splashing him with cold water. “How can you say that when you can hardly wait to be rid of me?”

  “What are you talking about?” he shouted. “I wasn’t the one who packed my bags and casually announced I was leaving. If you want to throw out questions, then you might start by asking yourself what kind of wife you are!”

  Savannah rubbed her uninjured hand beneath her nose. “You claimed you didn’t want a wife.”

  “I didn’t until I married you.” Nash opened the freezer portion of the refrigerator and brought out a tub of ice cubes. “Sit down,” he said in tones that brooked no argument. She complied. He set the tub on the table and gently placed her burned fingers inside it. “The first couple of minutes will be uncomfortable, but after that you won’t feel much,” he explained calmly.

  Savannah continued to sob.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I was taking out the baking dish.”

  Nash frowned. “Did the oven mitt slip?”

  “I forgot to use one,” she admitted.

  He took a moment to digest this information before kneeling down at her feet. His eyes probed hers and she lowered her gaze. Tucking his finger beneath her chin, he leveled her eyes to his.

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I...was upset.”

  “About what?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to tell him the truth. “These things happen and...”

  “Why?” he repeated softly.

  “Because you’re an idiot,” she flared.

  “I know you’re upset about me not wanting dinner, but—”

  “Dinner?” she cried, incredulous. “You think this is because you didn’t want dinner? How can any man be so dense?” She vaulted to her feet, her burned fingers forgotten. “You were just going to let me walk out of here.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Wrong? And how did you plan to stop me?”

  “I figured I’d move in with you.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. The agreement, as originally written, states that you’ll move out of my premises after your parents decide to travel and you—”

  “I know what that stupid piece of paper says,” Savannah said, frowning.