by Gina Wilkins
Kit noticed that the door to Savannah’s cottage stood open. Was she just letting in some fresh air? Security was tight at Rafe’s resort, but still Kit was a bit surprised—anyone could walk in on her. Maybe she was from one of those small Southern towns where people still felt safe leaving their doors unlocked. Having spent the past few years dividing his time between New York and LA., Kit wasn’t so trusting.
He paused on the threshold. He could hear two women chattering in the bedroom. He couldn’t hear them well enough to make out the words, but he didn’t think they were speaking English.
Apparently, he’d caught the maids at work. Savannah must have already gone out. He wondered if she’d left a message for him. Or was she deliberately avoiding him after last night? Was she going to make it necessary for him to track her down and insist that they talk?
He stepped inside the living room. “Hello,” he called out.
A dark-haired, dark-eyed maid in the white resort uniform appeared in Savannah’s doorway, smiling.
“May I help you, sir?” the woman asked in intriguingly-accented English.
“I’m looking for Miss—er, for the woman who’s staying in this cottage. Have you seen her this morning?”
The maid shook her head. “The lady checked out this mornin, sir. She took the first launch off the island.”
Kit couldn’t believe it. “No, she couldn’t have checked out.”
Surely she hadn’t been that shaken by what had happened—or rather, what had almost happened—between them.
“I’m sorry, sir. I saw her leave this morning.”
“She must have been called away. Some sort of emergency at home, perhaps.” He didn’t want to believe that she’d run from him.
The maid glanced at a small notepad she wore clipped to her belt. “No, sir. The lady was scheduled to leave this morning. This was her original departure date.”
Which meant Savannah had known last night, when he’d left her at her door, that she wouldn’t be seeing him again. And she hadn’t said a word.
Realizing that the maid was watching him closely, Kit forced a smile and nodded. “My mistake,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I’ve disturbed your work.”
“No problem. Have a nice day, sir.”
His smile faded. He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. The woman probably already thought he was nuts; another dumb question couldn’t do any further harm. “I don’t suppose you know her last name?”
The maid shook her head. “I’m afraid not. We always came in to clean when she was out. We never actually spoke to her. We referred to her only as the pretty lady in Number 12.”
The pretty lady in Number 12. Kit realized that he knew little more about Savannah than this woman did.
Funny. He’d thought he’d gotten to know her rather well during the few days they’d spent together. Looked as if he’d been wrong. Because he certainly hadn’t expected it to end like this.
SITTING ON AIRPLANE headed toward Atlanta, squeezed between two broad-shouldered businessmen, Savannah stared down into the open jewelry box she held in her hands. The flower-shaped pin Kit had given her glittered as if with a fresh coat of morning dew, looking as if it had just been plucked from an exotic vine.
She told herself that she would treasure the pin forever. Any time her life got too hectic or too lonely, she would be able to look at the brooch and remember a few perfect, magical hours. With memories like those, she couldn’t possibly have regrets, she told herself as she blinked back a film of tears that she tried to attribute to weariness.
She wondered if Kit would remember her with fondness, or with anger because she’d left the way she did.
She wondered if Kit would remember her at all.
“TELL ME WHERE to find her.” Kit’s voice was firm. Commanding. Desperate. “I know you have her name and address in your files. Let me have them.”
Rafe Dancer was not easily intimidated. He shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. If she’d wanted you to have her address, she would have given it to you herself. I cannot violate the privacy of one of my guests.”
“Damn it, Rafe, you know me. You know I won’t harass her. I only want to find her and talk to her. If she asks me to get lost, I will. Let me have the address.”
“No, Kit. Not even for you.”
Hissing a curse, Kit whirled to pace Rafe’s office with angry, frustrated strides.
Leaning against his desk, his arms crossed over his blindingly white shirt, Rafe watched his friend patiently. “What did you say to her to make her angry?”
“Nothing,” Kit snapped. “She ran because she got cold feet. Because what started out as a holiday flirtation turned into a hell of a lot more.”
“You knew her…what? A few days?”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to find her. Rafe…”
“No, Kit”
Kit slammed his fist on a delicate, and very expensive-looking cherry table. Miraculously, it didn’t crumble. Rafe only continued to watch him, apparently unconcerned about his office decor.
“Tell me this,” Kit said, turning to face his friend with narrowed eyes. “What would you have done if someone tried to keep you from T.J.?”
“I’d have gone for his throat,” Rafe replied evenly. He tilted his head back slightly, baring his own. “Want to take a chance at it?”
Kit considered it. “If I take you on, and I win, will you give me Savannah’s address?”
“No.”
Kit blew air sharply out of his nostrils and turned away. “Some friend you are.”
A muscle clenched in Rafe’s jaw. “There are some things I simply can’t do. Even for a friend.”
Kit had the grace to be ashamed of his tantrum.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just can’t stand back and let her go without at least trying to talk to her one more time.”
“Then find her. But you’ll have to do it without my help.”
Kit nodded grimly. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Good luck.”
“For what it’s worth,” Kit said from the open doorway, “I respect your integrity, Rafe. I always have.”
“Thank you, Kit Be sure and let Ms. McBride know that I guarded her privacy, will you?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll—” Kit froze for a moment, suddenly aware of what Rafe had done.
“Thank you.”
His face hard, Rafe jerked his chin toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do. Come back to the island any time, Kit. You’re always a welcome guest here.”
Kit nodded. “Maybe I’ll come back for my honeymoon,” he said flippantly, and then slipped out the office door before he made a further fool out of himself.
McBride. Savannah McBride, from Georgia.
Kit would find her if he had to work his way through every McBride in the whole damned state.
SAVANNAH’S FAMILY was waiting to meet her when she deplaned in Atlanta.
Miranda was wearing too much makeup, Savannah thought immediately, wincing at the sight of her thirteen-year-old daughter’s colorfully painted face. Miranda’s twin, Michael, stood slightly behind the others, his expression indicating that something had displeased him. Probably something his sister had said, Savannah thought with a stifled sigh. Her children hadn’t been getting along very well lately, and the few days they’d just spent with their sometimes difficult grandmother probably hadn’t helped things between them.
Savannah’s mother, Ernestine Pratt McBride, wore an expression similar to her grandson’s. Savannah recognized that look immediately. Ernestine was doing all she could to look as though a few days with her grandchildren had utterly exhausted her, just to make Savannah feel guilty about taking a vacation on her own.
This time, it wasn’t going to work. Savannah had needed the time away. Needed the rest, the peace, the temporary escape from stress. She’d needed the sheer fun she’d had with Kit, though he’d probably had no idea how much their time togeth
er had meant to her.
But she couldn’t think about Kit now. Not if she didn’t want her family to suspect something important had happened to her during the last few days—unfortunately, something that couldn’t last.
She reached her children first, and opened her arms to them. Miranda rushed right up for a hug, chattering a mile a minute about everything that had happened to her while Savannah had been gone. Michael responded a bit more sedately, but his hug was tight enough to let Savannah know that he had missed her.
Ernestine unbent enough to kiss her daughter’s cheek. “Your vacation must have been good for you,” she acknowledged rather reluctantly. “Looks like you got some rest.”
“I did. And it felt great Now I’d like to treat you to a nice dinner to thank you for taking care of the kids for me.”
Ernestine’s expression brightened. “There’s that new Italian place I’ve been wanting to try while we’re here in Atlanta. The one where all the celebrities eat when they come to town.”
Savannah thought of her travel-wrinkled clothes and severely dented bank account. She would have preferred to go straight home to Campbellville— nearly an hour’s drive away—take a long, hot bath and fall face-first into bed. But she knew what it took to keep her mother happy. After all, she’d been doing it for so very long.
“All right, Mother. If that’s where you’d like to eat, that’s fine with me.”
With only a slight pang, she pushed her tropical memories to the back of her mind, tucked the flower pin safely into her purse, and stepped back into her real life.
SAVANNAH HAD TO WORK on her birthday. She managed to smile as her co-workers at the construction company feted her with gifts and teasing remarks about turning thirty.
By the time she climbed out of her car in her garage that evening, she was exhausted from being gracious. She had decided that it was a lot less tiring to put in a full day’s work than to spend eight hours celebrating a birthday.
But the celebration wasn’t over. As soon as she opened the door to the house she shared with her children and her mother, she heard the twins sing out, “Happy birthday!”
Savannah pasted on her tired, birthday-girl smile and pushed wistful thoughts of a long, hot bath to the back of her mind. It would be a while yet before she could enjoy such solitary luxury.
Ernestine prepared dinner for Savannah’s birthday celebration at home. Afterward, the twins cleaned the kitchen with a minimum of squabbling—a rare concession in honor of the occasion. And then they insisted that Savannah open her gifts.
Ernestine gave her daughter a collection of expensive, scented lotions and creams designed to hide the signs of aging. Knowing what was expected of her, Savannah acted suitably thrilled to receive the gift.
She fully expected to see the charge for the gift on her next credit-card statement. Savannah had provided the sole support for her mother and children since Ernestine—still several years from retirement age—had developed a lung infection two years ago and had since declared herself too delicate to return to work.
Savannah didn’t mind supporting her mother, considering it more of a debt. Despite her outspoken disapproval and obvious humiliation, Ernestine had been there for Savannah when Savannah found herself expecting twins at a time when she was little more than a child herself.
Ernestine had sacrificed a great deal to make a new home for her daughter and her grandchildren in a town where they could live comfortably and quietly, supporting all of them until Savannah had been able to take over as the breadwinner. Ernestine still helped a great deal around the house, doing most of the cooking, shopping and cleaning, though not, of course, without occasionally pointing out everything she did. But there were times when the magnitude of Savannah’s own responsibilities got to her, resulting in migraine headaches she felt compelled to hide, and a steady diet of antacid tablets.
Though Savannah loved her mother, Ernestine was not an easy woman to live with.
When the long day finally ended, Savannah hugged her daughter and son, then sent them off to bed. She felt a pang at how quickly they were growing. Miranda was as tall as Savannah now, a full five feet four inches. Michael was two inches taller. And they were only thirteen.
Where had her babies gone?
Savannah spent the rest of her birthday doing laundry and getting ready for the next day. By the time she went to bed—the last one in the household to do so, as usual—she felt tired and rather old.
Because her bedroom seemed unusually quiet and lonely, she turned on her radio while she cleaned her face and applied the new night cream her mother had given her. The volume of the easy-listening channel was turned low, and she paid little attention to the tunes as she dressed for bed. She had only wanted something to fill the silence.
And then she recognized a melody and felt hot tears fill her eyes.
“Star Dust.” The blatantly sentimental tune suddenly seemed to fill the room. If she closed her eyes and tried very, very hard, she could almost imagine that she was back on a beach in the moonlight, feeling young and happy and carefree as Kit swept her into his arms for a midnight dance.
She’d wanted memories, she reminded herself. She’d thought they would comfort her.
How could she have known that they would torment her, instead?
She wondered for at least the hundredth time since she’d returned from Serendipity if Kit—wherever he was—ever thought of her.
5
A GAGGLE of ladies greeted Savannah when she dragged herself home from work Thursday evening, almost two weeks after her vacation. She’d had to work late, and was so tired it was all she could do to summon a smile for her mother’s hospital auxiliary club, who were having a dessert party in the living room.
The women descended on her. the moment she walked in the door.
“Savannah. How nice to see you.”
“Oh, dear, you look so tired. You’re working too hard.”
“Please join us, Savannah. There’s plenty of food left.”
Savannah would have loved to keep walking, straight to her room and her bed. She really didn’t mind her mother entertaining her friends, and Savannah genuinely liked most of the women in the room, but she simply wasn’t in the mood for a party this evening.
For some reason, she hadn’t been feeling very energetic since she’d returned from her vacation. For a while, Ernestine had been concerned that Savannah had picked up a tropical illness on the island.
But Savannah knew exactly what she’d brought home from her vacation—memories that were proving to be more haunting that she’d expected, and dreams that tormented her with what-might-have-beens.
She’d reassured her mother that she wasn’t ill—unless being lovesick counted. And that was one conversation Savannah didn’t want to get into!
So, she held onto her forced smile and agreed to have a slice of Mrs. O’Leary’s red-velvet cake. Not to be slighted, Mrs. Burleson immediately insisted that Savannah try a bite of her lemon cream puff, and Mrs. Avery slipped her a pecan-laden fudge brownie.
Ernestine brought her daughter a glass of iced tea. “Dick kept you working late tonight, didn’t he?” she asked in a tone that expressed both disapproval and concern.
“I had paperwork to finish,” Savannah explained, then swallowed a moan when she spotted Lucy Bettencourt bearing down on them.
Lucy was, without doubt, the most avid gossip in Campbellville. Nothing escaped her ears, and any details she didn’t know, she was quite willing to make up. Not that anyone ever actually had the nerve to accuse her of lying, of course. Getting sideways with Lucy Bettencourt was a surefire way of ending up on her verbal hit list.
Savannah was always very careful to watch her back when Lucy was around.
“Savannah, darlin’, what a lovely pantsuit. Did you get that at Sophie’s?”
Savannah smiled and shook her head. “I picked it up the last time I was in Atlanta,” she explained.
“Well, it just looks darlin’
on you. Dark slacks are such a clever way to minimize the hips, aren’t they?”
Savannah held onto her smile. “That’s what they say.”
“And where are those precious twins of yours thií evening?”
“Miranda’s spending the evening with her friend Jessica Helper. And Michael is sleeping in a tent in Nick Whitley’s backyard. Nick’s parents agreed to have a camp-out for a few of Nick’s friends.”
Mrs. Bettencourt nodded sagely. “That little Jessica Helper is a sweet child. Too bad she got her mama’s crooked nose, but maybe she can have it fixed some day. I heard that Toni saved up enough to have hers done a few years back, but then Marv’s business got into trouble and she had to use the money to bail him out. Such a shame.”
Savannah refused to comment on the Helpers’ financial woes. She didn’t mind that Miranda and Jessica were such close friends since, with the exception of being a bit too fond of makeup and boys, Jessica was a good kid.
Michael’s latest best friend, Nick, was a different story.
Nick wasn’t exactly a bad boy—yet. But he had a predilection for mischief that worried Savannah, especially since Michael thought everything Nick did was extremely cool. Since entering junior high, Michael had changed from an easygoing, affectionate and eager-toplease child to a moody, reticent and occasionally rebellious teenager. While Savannah supposed she should have anticipated the transformation, she missed her sweet little boy. And she worried.
It wasn’t easy raising a son in a houseful of women.
As if she’d followed Savannah’s line of thinking, Mrs. Bettencourt clucked her tongue. “That Whitley boy worries me. He’s got a mean streak. Just like his daddy at the same age. I declare, Ernie Whitley was a handful, on his way to becoming a juvenile delinquent until his grandpa finally took him in hand and straightened him out. That boy of Ernie’s has the same look about him. You better watch your son if he’s keeping close company with Nick.”