by Rita Herron
Erma pulled a small valentine keepsake box from her purse. "And I kept it all these years. I couldn't quite believe you were dead."
"I was a war prisoner," Horace explained. "Fifteen years. By the time I returned to the States, I was shell-shocked, broken down. Then I heard Erma had married. But I kept all the letters she wrote me while I was overseas."
Erma sniffled. "I had a few good years with my husband, but he died in a mine explosion in 'fifty-nine." She lifted a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. "But I still thought of you, Horace. You were my first love."
"And you never married, Horace?" Sophie asked, her own voice quavering with tears.
"No, my heart was set on Erma." He lifted her hand in his and kissed her gnarled fingers.
She lifted a shaky hand to touch the white hair at his temple. "And my heart still belongs to you, Horace."
The two embraced, and Sophie's heart squeezed. Their story reminded Sophie of the star-crossed lovers who were supposedly trapped within her house. What would it be like to have a man love you until you were old and gray?
Would she ever have that kind of undying love?
* * *
The remainder of the day Lance worked with a vengeance, determined to have the second coat on the kitchen walls and one layer of glossy white on the molding and trim. As usual, Sophie's cat had greeted him with a hiss, although he had brought along a cat toy. Jazzy had stared at it suspiciously and retreated up the stairs. Rome wasn't built in a day, he reminded himself. He wouldn't win the cat over in one either. But at least they had come to some terms: They tolerated the other being in the house, although their truce had yet to extend to sharing the same room.
A few minutes before five, when he expected Sophie home, he arranged his surprise, frowning when that Peter guy left a message saying he'd call back. He sneaked a peek at the card accompanying the flowers on her table and frowned—George. The man was definitely pursuing her. And the hulky football player had called three times.
Feeling foolish but determined to follow through with his plan, Lance wrote a suggestions for dates on six slips of paper, then slipped each of the notes inside a balloon, blew up the balloons, and tied one to each diet Coke in the six-pack. Each time Sophie popped a balloon, he'd take her on the date suggested in the note.
Whoever said Lance Summers wasn't romantic...?
Chapter 15
After the show, Sophie was exhausted, but she had to deal with Peter. Her secretary had phoned the talent scout who'd appeared on the show and arranged an appointment for him. She also had a message from her agent. The L.A. producer had phoned again about the reality-show offer, and a second offer from a producer at CNN sounded intriguing. They were looking for a special feature newscaster. Hmm. Maybe.
Still, she stalled and told her agent she'd think about it.
When Lucy popped in, she told her about the offers. "Lucy, you go with Peter and watch him."
"Sure." Lucy fluffed her curls. "I might get discovered myself."
Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Make sure he doesn't reveal my identity."
"You're making way too much out of this, Soph. If your audience knew about your Diva act, it might boost your ratings. Have you ever thought of that?""My ratings are fine, I have job offers in L.A. and Atlanta, and I'm going into syndication, remember?" More people were going to see her, more people who might recognize her... her dyed hair might not be enough. "You really want to be on television?" Sophie asked, vying for another strategy.
Lucy scrunched up her eyes. "Why not? You don't think I'm talented enough?"
Heavens, she'd hurt her sister's feelings. "You're gorgeous and talented," Sophie said. "But making it in television is rough, Lucy." Sophie bit her tongue. "You've seen what it did to Deseree. After dancing, she tried making it in the acting world."
"Maybe she didn't have a choice," Lucy said.
"There are always choices," Sophie countered. "Deseree didn't look hard enough."
"And maybe you're not looking hard enough to see why she made those choices."
Sophie jerked her head up, surprised by Lucy's antagonistic tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Lucy twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "Deseree obviously didn't have the confidence you did. Maybe she felt trapped."
Sophie understood about feeling trapped—hadn't she felt trapped by circumstances when she was young? All those times when Deseree hadn't come home at night and she'd been left to soothe Lucy's worries. All those days she'd pretended to the other kids at school that her mother wasn't the call girl they knew her to be. Sophie had invented so many lies she hadn't been able to keep them straight. Just like now, her head was spinning from trying to continue the charade. "We've had this argument before," Sophie said. "I know she had it rough growing up, Lucy, but so did we. I simply want a better life for both of us. I want you to go back to school, get a degree—"
"You're on television; why can't I pursue a TV career? I could be one of those weather girls, or another Vanna White on a game show."
"Is that really what you want?" Sophie asked hesitantly.
"I don't know; you certainly don't like my Sleepover, Inc., job."
Sophie rolled her eyes, ready to launch into another motherly lecture, when Peter knocked at the door. He stuck his head in. "I need to leave now if I'm going to make that appointment."
Lucy nodded. "I'm right behind you."
Sophie grabbed Lucy's hand. "Please, Lucy, I realize you don't agree with me, but don't do anything rash. This scout already almost recognized me. If you tell him about the Diva act, he may put two and two together and figure out who I am."
"I still think you're making way too much out of that." Lucy squeezed Sophie's hand. "But trust me, sis: I won't do anything to hurt you."
Sophie's voice felt rough when she spoke. "I... I want a chance here, with the show, maybe with Lance."
Lucy hugged her. "I know, Soph. But remember, if Lance isn't the one, you'll find someone else. I'm sure of it."
Trouble was, she didn't want anyone else. Maybe soon Lucy and Peter would be back in Vegas and her secrets would all be safe....
* * *
Why couldn't Sophie give up on Lance? Lucy wondered as Peter drove the rental car toward the Savannah Harbor Resort, where he was supposed to meet Edward Wormer, the talent scout.
Lucy's charms were supposed to help her find new lovers and sidetrack Sophie from this one-sided attraction. Maybe she needed a new spell, one to release Sophie....
She shot an irritated glance toward Peter. Why did she have to baby-sit her mother's old boyfriend when she should be making that new spell, when she wanted to be seducing Reid? She had to return to Vegas tomorrow morning for the Saturday-night show, so tonight would be her last and only opportunity for a while. And when or if she ever saw him again, he'd probably have moved on to some other hot babe.
A dull ache throbbed in her chest, and she massaged it, wondering if that last chocolate doughnut she'd eaten this morning had been a tad too much. After the interview she'd drive Peter to the airport; then she'd do a little shopping, find herself something seductive to wear tonight, something that Reid couldn't resist....
And before she left tomorrow, she'd figure out a way to convince Sophie to fly to Vegas for Mother's Day to meet her and Deseree. Granted, the three of them made an odd family, but it was the only one Lucy had, and she was determined that the three women stick together.
"It really wasn't necessary for you to tag along," Peter said as he parked in front of the hotel.
"Sophie insisted."
"She has issues."
"Maybe so, but you'd better do right by her, Peter, and not reveal anything about her past. She went out on a limb to line you up with this appointment."
Peter covered her hand with his. "Lucy, I know you don't believe it, but I honestly care about you and your sister. You are Deseree's daughters."
"You feel fatherly toward us?" Lucy laughed. "Peter, you're not old e
nough to be our father."
"But we've worked together a long time, and I love your mom."
As much as any man ever had, Lucy conceded slightly. "Thanks, Peter. If you really care, please honor Sophie's wishes."
Peter nodded and climbed out of the rental car. Lucy didn't feel it was necessary to accompany him inside. She trusted he wouldn't give away Sophie's past—not after her last warning. Instead she dug her book on charms from her purse while she waited. She had to make sure she hadn't done something wrong with the spells.
Maybe she'd even make up a new one to help Sophie fall in love with that guy George or that hunky football player, Rory, or maybe when she came to Vegas, Lucy could set her up with someone there.
She skimmed the charms and spells, but didn't find anything about releasing someone from an infatuation. Hmm. She'd noticed a voodoo-magic shop on the corner before they'd arrived at the hotel. Peter was safe inside; he would be fine. She'd hop over to that shop and pick up a few things she needed to help Sophie...
* * *
As the day wore on, Lance grew more and more nervous about Sophie's reactions to his balloon idea. Twice he'd already taken the silly-looking display to his truck; then he'd imagine Sophie with that black-leather milksop or that football player, and he'd drag it back inside. On the third trip back and forth he'd dropped it, one of the aluminum cans had exploded, spraying all the balloons, and he'd had to redo the entire contraption.
He wiped at a bead of sweat on his forehead.
Who'd ever thought the idea of asking a woman out would make him so damn jittery?
I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last man on earth.
What would he do if Sophie rejected him?
His cell phone rang, and Lance laid down the paintbrush and checked it, wishing it were McDaniels. The Savannah Sleep Clinic's name appeared instead.
He clicked the on button. "Hello, Lance Summers here."
"Mr. Summers, this is Dr. Settleton at the Savannah Sleep Clinic. We have your test results back."
Settleton's tone sounded serious. Worried. Like a man preparing to deliver bad news.
Good grief, what if Lance had some kind of brain tumor pressing on his brain that caused his sleeplessness? Maybe a blood clot...
"Yeah?" he asked, hating the way his own voice wobbled over the word.
"Other than the occasional jump in blood pressure, our tests show that there is nothing physically wrong with you."
"That's good news, right?"
"Well, yes. Of course, it still doesn't explain why you're suffering from insomnia." His breath wheezed over the line. "But in my opinion, after our conversations, I'd speculate that your condition is triggered by stress."
Lance dropped his head forward and rubbed his neck. He'd paid God knew how much money for this doctor to tell him he was stressed. "Of course I'm stressed. I have a company to run." And McDaniels to win over.
"Work can create tension, but you might consider seeing a counselor to talk about any unresolved problems, issues from childhood...."
Christ, not that psychobabble about childhood repressions. "I didn't hate my mother or father, if that's what you're getting at. I loved my parents, and my brother and sister."
Settleton chuckled. "I wasn't going to suggest you hated your family, but often a loss, a sudden death in a family such as the one you experienced in your teens, can add pressure on a child that the child suppresses until later years. Given that you were left to be the sole caretaker, you probably experienced feelings of abandonment, fear of loss..." He hesitated. "Those unresolved issues might also affect your relationships today, or lack of relationships."
He'd never really examined his feelings. Hell, he hadn't had time. Maddie had been so vulnerable and erratic herself, and Reid had been headed for juvenile.... Begrudgingly, he admitted Settleton was making sense. But what did that have to do with Sophie?
He glanced across the counter, anything to distract himself, and noticed an envelope with the name Deseree written on it. Deseree, the woman who ran the charity Sophie supported.
"Think about it," the doctor continued, cutting off his thoughts. "Face your inner demons, whatever they are, and then you can move on."
"Eliminate the stress?"
"If possible. If not, learn to deal with it, and your fears."
He wasn't a cowardly man, was he?
The back door opened, and Lance froze. The source of his stress had just walked inside, dressed in a slinky black sundress that hugged her curves and showcased that spiky black hair. She was so damn beautiful. Not only beautiful, but intelligent, a celebrity, and a generous one; no telling how much money she gave to this charity.
Had he been afraid to get involved with her? Afraid he'd love someone and then lose again?
His gaze flew to the balloons, nervous tension rippling through him. No, he refused to let fear rule his life. He'd face his issues and deal with them—starting tonight.
* * *
Sophie was so worried about Peter and the talent scout and whether or not to return Rory's and George's calls that she'd barely had time to think about Lance still being at her house when she arrived home. But as soon as she saw his face, the familiar tingle rippled through her to her toes, and heat charged up her body.
He looked different. She couldn't quite pinpoint how, but his expression, though guarded, definitely held an underlying note of hunger as well as mystery.
"Sophie," he said in a husky voice. "What do you think of the kitchen so far?"
Were they in the kitchen?
"It's hot," she said, then caught her lip between her teeth when he grinned.
"Yes, it is."
Twisting her hands together, she fought a nervous smile and tried to focus on the renovation. "The paint looks wonderful. I love the yellow."
"It does open the room up," Lance admitted.
"And the molding looks so much brighter."
"I need to apply another coat, and then touch up, but it's definitely coming along."
"Oh, yeah." He was watching her so intently, she turned to check the messages on the phone, but saw the light blinking and changed her mind. Sunlight flickered through the window, though, and the stained-glass window caught her eye. Hand-painted purple and yellow tulips danced in between blades of tall green grass.
"Oh, my gosh." Tears blurred her eyes.
"It's the one you wanted, right?"
She whirled around, blinking rapidly. "Lance, how... how did you know? I thought Maddie said it was too expensive—"
"We worked it out," he said. "I have arrangements with a few of the suppliers in town. We cut each other breaks."
"I can't believe you did that. I... I love it." She reached out to hug him, then restrained herself. "Thank you."
"It belongs here." A slow smile curved his mouth. "Your table will come tomorrow."
Her gaze dropped to the old rickety one she'd been making do with, and she narrowed her eyes at the six-pack of diet Coke with the balloons bobbing in the air. "What's that?"
Lance rolled back on the balls of his feet, his look sheepish. "I apologized the other night. Now I want to make up for the 'Dating Game' fiasco."
"What?"
"Each balloon has an idea for a date inside. Pop one each day for the next six days; the note inside describes what our date will be."
She gazed up at him in awe. "You want six dates with me?"
He nodded, then laid his hands over her shoulders, turned her to face him, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Her breath caught at the restless desire in his eyes.
"What changed your mind, Lance?"
His finger touched her lip. "Like I said, I can't sleep for thinking about you."
Sophie pressed a kiss to the tip of his finger. "Really? I didn't think you ever lost sleep over a woman."
"I never did before." His reply rolled out on a husky sigh.
Sophie's heart banged around in her chest, her emotions boomeranging between hope and
fear of getting her hopes up. "If this is about the other night, what we almost did on the floor, well..." She couldn't believe she had the courage to say this, but she went on: "I don't want a one-nighter, Lance." She glanced at the balloons. "Or even just six."
He cupped her face in his hands. "I know. And I can't make any promises, Sophie," he said in a rough whisper, "but I would like to see where this takes us."
* * *
While Peter had finished his interview, Lucy had skimmed the contents of her new charm book and written up a spell to counteract whatever lovesick spell had trapped Sophie in Lance's clutches.
Then she dropped Peter at the hotel and indulged in a shopping spree, emerging from one of the stores braless, wearing a silky red halter top with low-slung white cotton pants that dipped below her navel and white high-heeled sandals that showed off her new pedicure. Her belly button ring glittered in the fading sunlight, and the tips of her fire engine-red toenails matched her top. Dotting perfume between her breasts added the final touch.
She stopped by a small bistro she'd discovered while shopping, ordered a picnic dinner, grabbed a bottle of wine and glasses to complement the shrimp cakes and freshly baked breads, cheeses and fruits, and headed to Skidaway. Reid should be finishing up for the day. Tonight she intended to knock his socks off—literally.
When she arrived at the construction site, Reid's crew was packing up supplies. He patted his men on the back, making jokes and doling out orders for the next day. He was obviously in charge. The boss.
She admired his drive and skill. And she had never seen anything as fabulous as the antebellum house they had built. It was fashioned after the Elizabeth Henry House near historic River Street, and reminded her of castles and days gone by. Normally she wasn't a nostalgic person, but for some reason the huge white columns and sleeping porches on the back overlooking the water brought visions of Scarlett and Rhett, along with her own childhood fantasies of sharing a steamy romance with her own Southern hero.
Dusk was settling over the Skidaway River, a halo of orange sitting on top of the water. The air was filled with the sound of the river rushing over rocks and birds twittering in the tall trees bordering the riverbank. Reid's eyes lit up in surprise as she teetered toward him, but a black cat suddenly skittered in front of her, jarring her nerves. The black cat was a bad sign.