by Lori Wilde
“You’re not eating, Vannah, something wrong with the food?” Ginger asked anxiously.
“No.” Savannah stared at her untouched plate and forced herself to swallow a bite.
“It’s delicious,” Matt assured Ginger.
“Da!” Cody squealed and rubbed the drumstick across the top of his head as if agreeing with Matt.
“You’re so cute,” Ginger gushed to the baby.
Cody dropped his drumstick on the floor and promptly burst into tears.
Glad for the distraction, Savannah pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “It’s nap time,” she declared, easing Cody out of his high chair.
She carried her son into the front bedroom, her heart aching, heavy with memories. She wished Matt Forrester would simply leave. His presence created nothing but unhappiness. Unfortunately, she needed his help. If the Santa Gertrudis were not recovered, she’d be in big financial trouble.
Cody fussed as she cleaned his face and hands with a moistened towelette. She reached for a diaper to change him and caught a movement from the corner of her eye.
Matt.
He lounged against the doorframe, his pose insouciant. His arms were clasped loosely across his chest, one knee cocked at an incidental angle. But Savannah knew beneath the casual facade he was tense, wary, the way any good law- enforcement officer would be.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She shrugged, concentrated on changing Cody. “So talk.” “I see no reason for us to keep tiptoeing around the past.” He moved closer.
“I’m not tiptoeing,” she denied.
“We’re not confronting the issue, either.”
She turned to face him. “Why should we? What does it matter? Things were over between us a long time ago.”
“I was hoping maybe we could be friends.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” she said, clutching the baby to her chest. “After all, you are investigating the theft of my cattle. Isn’t that conflict of interest or something?”
“After the investigation is over, of course.” He edged another few steps in her direction.
“It wouldn’t work.” She gulped and stared at a bright yellow wooden bunny posted on the nursery wall. Cody whimpered, squirming, as if picking up on her taut, stretched emotions.
Matt stood so near she could smell him. The familiar, redolent aroma aroused her. The scent of pure, masculine male—earthy, rich, delightful.
“I want you to know I’ve forgiven you,” he said. “Forgiven me?” Savannah protested. “I did nothing that needed forgiving. You were the show-off who had to prove yourself by getting shot and kissing barmaids!”
Cody threw back his head and squalled, huge tears collecting at the comer of his eyes.
“Don’t try to dodge the consequence. You ran out on me." Matt’s lips formed a hard, straight line. “You refused to even let me explain. You immaturely threw away our life together in a moment of jealous pique, and not one month later you married Gary Markum.”
“I was the injured one,” Savannah shouted, jiggling Cody up and down in her arms and patting him on the back in an attempt to soothe him. “You were kissing Jackie Spencer on the night of our engagement party!”
“Here.” Matt held out his hands. “Let me try to calm the little guy. I bet he misses his daddy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He never even knew his father. Gary died when he was six weeks old.”
“Every boy needs a man around.”
“That’s the key word, Matt. Around. Not a man who’d spend his time traipsing across the state after criminals. Not a man who likes mixing it up with outlaws in gun battles. Not a man who could wind up dead at any minute.”
“Like Gary?” Matt smirked, and Savannah’s fingers itched to slap his smug face.
“That’s a low blow. Gary didn’t go looking for cancer the way you court danger.” She raised her chin defiantly.
“I’m sorry, Savy. That was way out of line. Here, let me hold him.” Matt clapped his hands and the baby reached for him.
Savannah sucked in her breath. Cody’s betrayal stung. Jealously, she watched Matt enfold her son to his chest.
He walked across the room, settled into the rocking chair and slowly began to rock back and forth. Savannah stared, incredulous. When they were dating Matt had never expressed any interest in children. It surprised her to see him so at ease with her son.
Watching them together filled Savannah with a tumble of mixed emotions—awe, tenderness and, yes, envy. Her bottom lip quivered. This was ridiculous. Why would the sight of the big man cuddling the tiny baby make her want to cry? A sharp contrast of weak and strong. The protector nurturing the defenseless.
Cody’s eyelids drooped. Matt looked so comfortable, so self-assured in the role of surrogate father. Savannah turned her back on them as a single tear slid down her cheek. Oh! for what might have been.
Only the creaking chair disturbed the silence. Savannah fisted her hands as misery seeped through her bones. She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, but falling in love with Matt Forrester had to rank right up there at the top of the list.
“I think he’s asleep,” Matt whispered.
“He’s been up since six.”
With slow, deliberate movements designed not to jar, Matt stood, edged to the crib and softly laid Cody down. He hesitated a moment, leaning over the bed, his gaze transfixed on the sleeping baby. Savannah wondered what he was thinking. Did he feel the brunt of regrets as severely as she?
Matt straightened and took Savannah’s elbow. “Come on,” he whispered, guiding her out into the hallway.
His grip burned her skin. Waves of heat radiated up her arm. She twisted away from him, unable to bear the intensity of her body’s reaction to his simple touch. Tossing her head, she marched through the living room and into the kitchen. She found Ginger standing in front of the sink, washing dishes.
“Julio never showed up for lunch,” her sister said. “So I saved him some chicken.”
“I have a feeling you shouldn’t have bothered,” Matt said, following close behind Savannah.
“What do you mean?” Ginger asked.
“I think Mr. Diaz has some knowledge of what happened to your cattle. My guess is he’s left the ranch.”
“Julio?” Ginger raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
“He’s probably just busy moving the herd.” Savannah refused to believe Julio was involved. “I’ll have Clem go look for him.” Anxious to distance herself from Matt, she stepped outside and waved to Clem, who was wheeling the riding lawn mower around the front yard. The elderly man stopped the engine.
“Need something, Miss Savannah?”
“Could you go check the bunkhouse, see if Julio is washing up for lunch, Clem?”
“Sure thing, Miss Savannah.”
The back door opened, and Matt joined her on the porch. “I still need Gary’s records, if you can find them for me,” he reminded her.
“Why? I told you, nothing’s missing besides the cattle.” “That’s the kicker, Savannah.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, squinting against the bright spring sunshine. A mockingbird trilled in a nearby mesquite tree. In the flower bed along the sidewalk a row of cannas danced in the slight breeze.
“Something else should be missing.”
“I don’t follow you.”
Matt screwed his face into a pensive expression as if trying to decide whether to reveal any more information.
“Tell me, Matt. I have a right to know.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “In the five other robberies, more supplies than cattle were taken. Either the thieves have changed their M.O. in your case or someone else is responsible. That’s why I need Gary’s records. To confirm your assertion that nothing else is missing besides the fourteen Santa Gertrudis.”
“Oh.” Savannah lifted a hand to her throat. “And you suspect Julio?”
“I suspect everyone, Savy, it’s the nature of
my job.” “Do you suspect me, Matt?”
“Do I have a reason to?”
“You’ll never change, will you?”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Your work will always be your first loyalty.”
“That’s right,” he said, “always.”
That’s what she was afraid of. No woman could ever compete with the sheriff’s department.
Butterflies chased each other through the trees. Bees hummed around the flowers. The luscious scent of honeysuckle wafted in the air. A beautiful afternoon, but Savannah couldn’t enjoy it. Matt’s wary suspicions spoiled everything.
“You going to have Ginger’s wedding here?” he asked. “Yes,” she answered, relieved he’d changed the subject.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe it, little Ginger getting married.”
“She’s twenty. Old enough.”
“Would it disturb you if I came?”
“Ginger invited you. It’s her wedding.”
“You didn’t invite me to yours,” he said lightly, resting an arm on the porch railing.
Savannah closed her eyes. How she’d wanted Matt to come! To save her, to rescue her from herself. When the minister had come to the part in the ceremony about anyone knowing why these two should not be married, Savannah had dreamed Matt would come riding up on a white horse, exclaiming, “Stop the wedding! She can’t marry Gary Markum! I love her!” Of course, that stupid, girlish fantasy had been just that, a fantasy. She’d faced the hard facts of life since then. Matt had never loved her at all.
“Savannah.” His voice was low, husky. She opened her eyes, looked at him. Pure electricity surged in his gaze.
“Yes?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Not now. She’d set her heart against romantic love, had settled for comfort and convenience, had gone forward with her life.
“Look,” Matt said, pointing at Clem.
The old ranch hand came loping across the field. “Miss Savannah! Miss Savannah,” he called out excitedly.
Savannah and Matt left the porch, met him in the middle of the yard. “What’s the matter, Clem?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.
“It’s Julio,” Clem rasped, hitching in jagged breaths of air. He clasped a hand to his side.
“What?” Matt demanded.
“He’s gone. Cleared out. Even took the sheets off his bunk.”
Chapter Three
IVlatt mentally kicked himself for wasting time sparring with Savannah when he should have been tracking Julio Diaz. Women. Once they got tangled up in your mind, they could distract the most dedicated man.
Still, it was no excuse. He knew better than to let anything interfere with an investigation. He wheeled the Jeep down the highway, heading for the border and Mexico if necessary. He’d lifted Julio’s prints from the bunkhouse, run them through the computer and quickly discovered that Diaz was an illegal alien from Neuvo Laredo. And quite possibly an expert cattle thief.
Matt swore under his breath. Why in the Sam Hill couldn’t he just forget the ornery woman? There were plenty of other females eager to be with him. Why was he wasting his time mooning over one who obviously wanted nothing to do with him?
“ ’Cause you’re a sentimental fool, Forrester,” he growled and frowned at himself in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t forget how wonderful it had felt rocking Savannah’s baby in his arms, pretending it was their child. He had to get a grip on his emotions. These daydreams could only bring heartache. Too much unresolved conflict existed between him and Savannah for them to ever have a future together.
Savannah was right about one thing, though. Being a sheriff’s detective wasn’t a career for a family man. It required too much time on the road and involved too much danger.
Yet he loved his job. Had known it was his calling from the tender age of twelve, when his family had lost their farm. The old memory floated through his mind like a whiff of acrid wood smoke. Like most peanut fanners in West Texas, his dad had mortgaged the homestead to the hilt, banking on a bumper crop of peanuts to rescue them from debt.
But that year, Matt’s grandmother died and the whole family departed on a week-long trip to California.
They’d returned home to discover their fields stripped bare. The peanut crop had been harvested by thieves. The bank foreclosed, Matt’s family ended up living with his uncle, and the crooks went free. From that day on, Matt swore revenge, if not on those particular thieves then on any others who dared to prey on the innocent, hardworking folks of Texas. And so began his journey in law enforcement, doing what he loved best—bringing the wicked to justice.
That was something Savy just didn’t understand.
From now on, he’d keep his head focused on his job and forget about Savannah. The past was dead. Buried with his youthful fantasies of a wife, kids and a loyal dog to return home to at the end of each day.
Satisfied he’d made the right decision despite the hurt ricocheting inside him, Matt trod heavily on the accelerator and sped away into the dark West Texas night.
Savannah worried.
It had been a week since Matt had left the ranch to look for Julio Diaz. Where was he? She fretted. Had something happened? Had he found Julio? A dozen possible scenarios floated through her mind, each more alarming than the one before. Why hadn’t he let her know something? Had he been hurt?
Finally, too anxious to stand the suspense any longer, she’d gathered her courage and called the sheriff. The dispatcher who answered the phone had listened sympathetically but hadn’t been able to give her much information. The woman had, however, told Savannah that Matt wasn’t in Sweetwater.
“Forrester, where are you?” Savannah sighed.
She looked into the brilliant blue sky, rocked back on her heels, tossed a handful of weeds into a pile and peeled off her gardening gloves. With Julio gone, more of the ranching chores had fallen on her shoulders, leaving her precious little time to prepare for the wedding. Luckily, Ginger’s fiance, Todd, had volunteered to help get the garden ready for the ceremony on Saturday.
“Did you say something, Savannah?” Todd asked, resting one well-muscled arm on his shovel and swiping the other arm across his damp forehead.
“Thinking out loud. Sorry.” Savannah shook her head.
“Where do you want these geraniums?” Ginger asked, carrying an armful of the colorful blooms in a clay pot.
“Along the path.” Savannah got to her feet and pointed with a trowel.
“Da!” Cody hollered from his playpen under a shady mimosa tree.
Todd squinted at the horizon. “Looks like we got company.”
“Oh?” Savannah followed his gaze.
Dust billowed in the distance, and through it she saw a flash of red. Matt’s Jeep? Instant relief splashed across her heart. Don’t be ridiculous, Savannah scolded herself, a red vehicle does not necessarily mean it’s Matt.
“Good time to take a break,” she said, planting her palms in the small of her back. “Anybody for lemonade?”
“Sounds mighty fine,” Todd agreed.
“Me, too,” Ginger added, setting down the geraniums.
“Drinks all around, then.”
From the comer of her eye, Savannah saw Todd lean over and plant a kiss on Ginger’s eager lips. A sliver of envy sliced through her. Oh, to be that young, that naive, that in love again.
She went into the house and washed her hands. She retrieved a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade from the refrigerator, iced down four glasses, arranged everything on a tray and stepped outside just as Matt’s red Jeep pulled into the driveway.
It’s him! she thought giddily. If only I could fling myself into his arms! But instead she set the lemonade down on the picnic table and waited for him to join them.
Her pulse hammered as he drew near. The tan Stetson hid his face. His shoulders swayed as he swaggered across the yard, looking for all the world like the hero in an old- fashioned w
estern. A nugget of affection vaulted into her throat at the very sight of him.
“Afternoon, Ginger, Todd, Savannah,” he greeted them, doffing his hat.
“Hello, Matt,” Savannah said coolly. To her dismay, she noticed a fresh cut traveled from Matt’s right brow down his cheekbone. Five neat, black stitches knitted the wound. Her hand flew to her throat as she sucked in a breath. He’d been hurt!
“Hi.” Ginger raised a hand. “We were fixing to have some lemonade. Care to join us?”
“Sounds good.” He ran a hand through his hair. Savannah could feel the heat of his gaze on her face. She longed to ask him how he’d earned that gash.
Matt eased himself down on the patio chair as if his whole body ached from the effort of moving. He’d been in a fight, she could see that much.
“Getting ready for the wedding?” Matt nodded at the freshly tended flower garden.
“Yeah.” Ginger beamed, pouring lemonade while Todd sat down next to the Matt. “Only a week away. I can’t wait.”
“What happened to your face?” Todd asked bluntly. Ginger nestled next to her husband-to-be. He slid a possessive arm around her waist.
“You mean this?” Matt pointed at the scar. “This is nothing.” He looked at Savannah as if weighing her response.
Savannah wrapped her fingers around her glass. She yearned to reach out and comfort him, soothe his pain, yet she knew acting on these feelings would land her in deep distress.
“Have a sit,” Matt invited, patting the spot beside him.
“I’m fine right here,” Savannah replied, leaning against the mimosa’s trunk and placing the sole of one foot flat against the tree’s bark.
“Did you catch up with Julio?” Ginger asked.
“Yep.” Matt nodded, took another long drink of lemonade.
“And?” Savannah stared at him, raised her eyebrows.
“Julio’s not a cattle thief, but he does have a way with a switchblade knife.” Matt gingerly fingered the cut.
Wincing, Savannah grit her teeth. “Julio did that to you?” She felt sick at the thought of Matt’s handsome face being sliced open.