STEAMY SAVANNAH NIGHTS

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "How are you holding up?" Michael asked.

  "Fine," she lied. She'd never been this nervous before, not even on the day she'd arrived in the States.

  When Abraham Danforth entered the room, Michael stepped forward to greet him. The men shook hands, and Lea noticed that Michael, at six-two, stood several inches taller than her father, but Abraham's wide shoulders made him seem equally strong.

  He turned to look at her, and her heart crawled straight to her throat, nearly blocking her windpipe. Abraham was a charismatic man, with dark brown hair and stunning blue eyes.

  "Lea." He said her name and smiled. "I'm pleased to see you."

  "You won't be," she managed, as she came to her feet. "Not after Michael tells you why we're here."

  The politician made a perplexed face and addressed his bodyguard. "What's going on?"

  "Your daughter is Lady Savannah," Michael said.

  The air in Abraham's lungs whooshed out, and Lea flinched, wishing she could die a thousand sword-tipped deaths. Abraham's capable shoulders turned rigid and anger blazed in his eyes. He spun around to stare at her and she felt horribly sick inside.

  "You sent those notes? That virus?"

  "Yes."

  "Why? Why would you do that me? To my family?"

  "I wanted to hurt you. To destroy your political career."

  "I never suspected you." He shook his head. "I never even considered the possibility. Do you hate me that much, Lea?"

  "I did. But I don't anymore." Because she was afraid her legs wouldn't hold her, she sat on an ornate settee and looked up at him. "I thought you used my mother."

  He didn't move. He simply stood before her, the light from several windows bathing him in a soft, summer glow. But even so, he remained big and powerful. "Is that what Lan thought, too?"

  "No. My mother trusted you."

  "I was on a clandestine mission to rescue POWs," he said. "I never intended to have an affair. But after I was injured, Lan sheltered me. She gave me food and medical care. And I—" His voice broke a little. "I didn't remember that I had a wife and children in America."

  "My mother believed with all her heart that you were single."

  "And so did I." He glanced at the windows, at the landscaped view of Crofthaven. "But I'm not sure why a married man would feel that way. Even a man with amnesia."

  He frowned, and Lea wondered if he'd told his wife about his Vietnamese lover or if he'd kept his guilt bottled up inside. Either way, his marriage had suffered. Of that much, she was sure.

  When Abraham sat next to her, Lea struggled to breathe. He was so close, she could see the tiny lines around eyes. She wanted to touch his face, to imagine him forgiving her, but she didn't dare.

  "I cared very deeply for Lan," he said.

  "Did you?" she asked, clasping her hands on her lap.

  "Yes, very deeply. But after I was rescued and taken to a U.S. Naval hospital in Hawaii, I was told that Lan's village and all of its inhabitants were destroyed. Because of me," he added. "Because of the aid they'd given a U.S. soldier."

  "My mother didn't die." Lea looked around for Michael and noticed that he remained standing, like a sentry, at the opposite end of the room. He caught her gaze and gave her a small nod of encouragement, letting her draw from his strength. "She lived for many years after that."

  Her father sighed. "I wish I had known."

  "Why?" she asked honestly. "What would you have done? Brought her to America once diplomatic relations with Vietnam were restored? Presented her to your wife and children?"

  Abraham's response was troubled, as painful as his solution. "I wouldn't have left her there. I wouldn't have betrayed her. Lan and her family risked their lives to keep me safe, to hide me from the Viet Cong."

  "Yes, she told me that. She said her uncle was involved in the secret mission you were on. That he brought you to their village because you were badly injured and separated from your unit."

  "He was injured, too. But he didn't survive his wounds." Although Abraham cleared his throat, he wasn't able to clear the discomfort from his voice. "Did Lan wait for me? Did she hope that I would come back for her someday?"

  "Yes. And I hoped and prayed you would, too."

  "Until you started hating me?"

  Her stomach clenched. This was the man her mother had loved, the man who'd fueled Lea's childhood dreams, the flesh-and-blood hero she'd lost. "I'm so sorry I threatened you. I had no right to make you fearful. To force you to worry about your family."

  "It's so hard to believe it was you."

  She wanted to curl up and cry, but she knew it wouldn't lessen her crime. "You can contact the police. I'll understand if you turn me in."

  Abraham sat quietly for a moment, contemplating her words; he glanced at Michael, then back at her. "I could never do that."

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "Because you're my daughter."

  "But I lashed out at you. I didn't treat you like a father."

  "You were hurting." He handed her the lemonade she'd yet to drink. "You're still hurting."

  "And so are you." She could see how deeply Lady Savannah had affected him. "I don't deserve your compassion."

  "But I want you to accept it. For yourself and your mother."

  She sipped her drink, clutching the glass like a lifeline. Somewhere deep down, he was still angry with her, she thought. Still disappointed in Lan's child. But he was trying to do the right thing. "Thank you for your kindness."

  He gave her a small smile. "Maybe you and I should get to know each other. Maybe we could spend some time together this week."

  "I'd like that." She tried to keep her hands from trembling, her heart from spilling over with tears. "I'd like that very much."

  * * *

  Nine

  « ^ »

  After Michael and Lea left Crofthaven, they went back to Michael's house. But they couldn't seem to think of anything to say. Neither of them had anticipated her father's forgiveness. Lea's encounter with Danforth had turned out differently than they'd assumed it would. Better, but far more emotional than either of them could endure.

  Lea's eyes, he noticed, were damp with unshed tears. Happy tears, sad tears, tears of shame. Michael wasn't sure how to comfort her.

  "I should pack," she said.

  "Pack?" he parroted. They stood in the great room, beneath the skylight, just looking at each other.

  "To go home. Back to my apartment."

  "But you've only been here a week. I invited you to stay for two weeks."

  "You brought me here because you were investigating me. And the investigation is over."

  He couldn't deny her claim. He'd suggested that they become friends, but his offer was based on solving Lady Savannah's case. "I did what I had to do." But he didn't like feeling this distant, this disconnected from her. "It was part of my job."

  "I know." She glanced up at the skylight. "I think my father accepted me so readily because of his guilt."

  "Because he cheated on his wife? Because Lan's village was destroyed? Because she raised his child on her own?" Michael blew out a rough breath. "He has a lot to contend with."

  "I shouldn't have threatened him." She turned toward the stairs. "I only made things more difficult."

  "It's over now. And you're both trying to make amends." He followed her upstairs, but he didn't stop her from packing, from making the choice to leave.

  She removed her suitcase from the closet and placed it on her side of the bed. He sat on the opposite end, watching her, thinking how fragile she looked.

  "Do you think my father will introduce me to his other children?" she asked.

  "I imagine he will. Maybe not right away, but eventually."

  She began folding her clothes, stacking them neatly in the suitcase. "Once the pain lessens?"

  "Yes." A strand of her hair fell forward and Michael imagined tucking it behind her ear, touching the side of her face, absorbing the warmth of her skin. "I have no idea how your b
rothers and sister will feel. Some of them are probably still struggling with their relationship with their dad."

  She held a ruffled blouse against her chest, clinging to the feminine fabric. "What if I cause more trouble than I'm worth?"

  "You won't." He resisted the urge to hold her, to wrap her in his arms, to ask her to stay. But he knew they needed some time away from each other, time to sort out their feelings, to cope with the lies and betrayal.

  She placed the ruffled blouse in her suitcase, smoothing the lapels. "I couldn't bear to hurt my father again." She stopped packing, her voice laced with shame. "Do you how I located him to begin with?"

  Michael studied her weary expression. "No. How?"

  "By chance." She smoothed her errant hair. "When I first came to America, I was young and poor and naive. I had no idea how vast this country was or how difficult it would be to locate someone."

  "So what did you do?"

  "Not much, not when I first got here. I showed his picture around, but that got me nowhere." She made a sad sound. "Do you know how many Amerasians were doing that? Carting around old photographs of their fathers?"

  "But you found your dad."

  "Only because he was running for state senator. By that time, I was conducting Internet searches, using Abraham and Vietnam veteran as key words. And one day, an article about Abraham Danforth popped up. There was a picture of him when he was in his twenties, when he fought in the war." She stopped packing. "I recognized him instantly. I knew it was the same man."

  Michael thought about the snapshot she'd been carrying around. "I don't understand why Danforth agreed to have his picture taken with your mother, especially after the fall of Saigon."

  "He didn't agree to it. He didn't know he was being photographed."

  "Who took the picture?"

  "Trung, my mother's younger brother. He was an amateur photographer."

  Which meant he'd developed it himself, Michael thought. "Why was Trung sneaking around? Taking risky pictures?"

  "Because my mother asked him to. She wanted a tangible connection to my father, something to hold on to if he was captured or killed."

  Michael shook his head. "That picture could have gotten her captured or killed."

  "I know. But she promised her brother that she would keep it well hidden. That she wouldn't let the Viet Cong find it." Lea paused. "But her promise hardly mattered because everyone in her family died, including Trung. She was the only person in her village who managed to escape."

  Michael pictured Lan running for her life, dodging bullets, grenades and mortar blasts, hiding in a makeshift shelter, alone and afraid. "Will you show me the photograph Trung took? I want to see what your mother looked like."

  "It's at my apartment." Lea resumed packing, folding her clothes, gathering her toiletries, keeping her hands much too busy. "You can stop by sometime to see it." She glanced up, and suddenly their gazes locked, trapping him in a timeless moment.

  If he stopped by to see the photograph, would he end up in her bed? Would he become her midnight lover again?

  "It wouldn't be right," he said.

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Nothing. I was just thinking out loud." And wishing their relationship wasn't so forbidden, that his feelings for Lea weren't tied up in knots, that he wasn't missing her already.

  * * *

  Lea told herself she enjoyed living alone, but on Monday, after her workday ended, she wandered around her apartment as restless as a caged cat.

  She changed into a halter dress, dusted her furniture, turned on the TV and switched channels a dozen times.

  When the doorbell rang, she leaped off the couch, hoping it was Michael. She missed him terribly.

  Anxious, she answered the summons and found Cindy on the other side. The blonde was dressed in a mint-colored suit, looking as cool and fresh as the icy green fabric. Somehow, the sweltering August weather didn't seem to have an effect on her.

  "I hope you don't mind that I stopped by," Cindy said. "I got your address from your file at the office."

  "Of course I don't mind." Lea wasn't sure what to make of this visit, but she invited the other woman inside.

  "What a lovely apartment." Cindy looked around with unabashed curiosity. "Smart and tidy."

  "Thank you. Would you like some iced tea? I always keep a fresh pitcher on hand."

  "That sounds good." The blonde followed Lea to the kitchen, making herself at home. She sat at the glass-topped table near the window and crossed her legs.

  Lea poured their drinks and joined her. "Did you come here directly from the office?"

  "Yes. As a matter of fact, that's why I decided to stop by. Michael drove me crazy today." Cindy accepted the tea and took a small sip. "He was so moody." She leaned forward. "I assume you two are having some problems."

  Lea didn't know what to say. She certainly couldn't tell Cindy that Michael had been investigating her. "I have a lot going on in my personal life."

  "With what? Your father?"

  "Yes. We're going to try to get to know each other."

  "So you're ready to let him announce to the world that you're his daughter?"

  "No. I mean … I think it's still too soon for that. I'd prefer to keep our relationship private for a while."

  Cindy tilted her head. "I wonder if he'll include you in his will."

  Taken aback, Lea could only stare. She hadn't expected the other woman to pry into Abraham's financial affairs, at least not in such a blatant manner. "I'm not interested in my father's money."

  "Then what is it you want from him?"

  "Acceptance." And forgiveness, she thought. Absolution. Redemption.

  The blonde fluffed her hair, tossing loose waves over her shoulders. "I'd rather have his money. Let's face it, that man owes you. There you were, abandoned in Vietnam and struggling to get by while his other children were attending fancy boarding schools."

  At this point, Lea wasn't sure if Cindy was friend or foe, enemy or ally. "I used to think that he owed me something, but I don't feel that way anymore."

  The other woman's tennis bracelet glinted in the light. "I didn't mean to speak ill of your father. Abraham Danforth is a fascinating man. A bit too old for my taste, but charming nonetheless."

  Too old? Did that mean Cindy wasn't keeping a romantic eye on him?

  "Now Michael is perfect, don't you think?"

  Lea stumbled. "P-perfect? For what?"

  "Someone our age." The bracelet caught another ray of light. "I'm twenty-seven. Just like you."

  "I never considered Michael's age as a factor in our relationship."

  "Didn't you? Well, think about it. A successful man in his midthirties is just what a career-oriented woman in her late-twenties needs."

  When Lea didn't respond, they sat quietly, drinking sugar-spiked tea and listening to the background noise of the television, a talk show offering marital advice.

  "I'll bet he's going to show up here," Cindy said.

  "Who?"

  "Michael."

  "Why would he?"

  "Because he was thinking about you all day. He didn't tell me he was, but he didn't have to. I know him better than anyone. I can read his moods." The other woman sighed. "I wish someone like Michael would brood over me."

  Someone like Michael? Lea wondered. Or Michael himself? With Cindy, it was impossible to tell. The blonde never quite made her intentions clear.

  Cindy leaned back in her chair. "It's a sexual obsession."

  Lea's pulse jumped. "What?"

  "The way Michael feels about you. I'll bet he'll ask you to move in with him. Just to have you next to him every night."

  "He won't—"

  "Yes, he will. That's what my old boyfriend did with me. And once the excitement wore off, he got rid of me." Cindy rose, leaving her half-empty glass on the table. "I should go. I have some errands to run."

  Dazed, Lea could only stare.

  With the grace of a Savannah socialite, Cindy reached
out to give Lea a hug, confusing her even more. And by the time the blonde swept out the door in her mint-green attire and diamond trinkets, Lea's head was spinning.

  Fifteen minutes later the doorbell sounded, but Lea wasn't surprised to find Michael waiting on her stoop. Cindy claimed that he would stop by, and she was right.

  Michael gave Lea a cautious smile, and her heart melted. God, how she loved him.

  "Should I have called first?" he asked.

  "No. I'm glad you're here."

  He entered the apartment, and they stood quietly for a moment, just looking at each other. He was dressed in a white shirt, black trousers and a silk tie, with his hair combed away from his forehead. She wanted to kiss him, to lead him to her room, but she couldn't bring herself to do that, not after what Cindy had said.

  He lifted the grocery bag in his hand. "I got the ingredients for the pumpkin soup. I found a Seminole recipe online that's similar to what my mom used to make."

  "Then come into the kitchen and we'll cook."

  "Okay." He smiled at her again, leaving her breathless.

  Lea cleared the iced-tea glasses from the table and Michael set the groceries on the counter. When she turned to face him, he was removing his tie and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  She moved closer to unpack the ingredients, and he roamed his gaze over her.

  "Is that a new dress?" he asked.

  She nodded. "I bought it yesterday."

  "It's backless." He tossed his tie over the back of a kitchen chair. "Braless."

  Her nipples went hard. Guilty for wanting him, she fussed with her hair, bringing it forward, covering her breasts. "It's been so hot lately."

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. "Do you think it's too hot to make soup?"

  "In Vietnam, we used to have soup for breakfast. I can eat it anytime. In any kind of weather."

  "Me, too." He unpacked the grocery bag. "The recipe calls for two cups of chicken stock, so I bought bouillon cubes. Is that okay?"

  She still wanted to touch him, to lead him to her room, to hold him as close as she could. "Sure. That's fine."

  "I got canned pumpkin. I didn't see any fresh pumpkins at the market." He handed her the recipe he'd printed from the Internet. "But supposedly either one works."