by JoAnn Ross
She seemed to be processing that suggestion as she looked out over the town. Warm yellow lights curved around the cove, reminding Dan of the train layout he’d earned a Boy Scout merit badge for building back in the sixth grade. The breeze from the water was rustling the leaves in the trees.
“Besides,” he reminded her quietly, “Henry’s part owner of the lighthouse. He jumped at the chance to work on his old home.”
“Oh. Of course he would want to be involved. I should have thought of that.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
Her soft sigh confirmed that statement.
“I apologize if I overstepped my bounds, Savannah.” He brushed a kiss against her knuckles. “If I promise to never lift a hand to help you again, will you come sailing with me?”
She laughed lightly, as he’d meant her to, then turned back to him, her eyes meeting his. “I may have overreacted, just a bit…. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. So, is that a yes?”
This time her sigh was one of surrender. But the warmth that had returned to her eyes revealed that it wasn’t a reluctant one. “Yes.”
Having been born in Coldwater Cove, Dan had grown up on the water. But he couldn’t remember ever enjoying an afternoon more than this one. Just the sight of Savannah—her face lifted to the sun, her hair blowing in the breeze like a gold and bronze flag—was enough to take his breath away.
But it was more than the fact that she reminded him of some mythical mermaid. It was the ease with which she laughed and talked with him. They’d stopped at the house so she could check on her grandmother, who’d complained about the way everyone was fussing over her lately. During the brief stop, Savannah had run upstairs to admire the new clothes Lilith and Gwen had brought home from the Dancing Deer Dress Shoppe, leaving him to dodge some pointed questions about his intentions that had Dan thinking that Ida would have made one helluva prosecutor.
He was in his thirties, successful, and, he liked to think, a pretty good catch for the right woman. Yet Savannah’s grandmother had managed to send the clock reeling backwards in a way that had him feeling like a hormone-driven, sweaty-palmed seventeen-year-old promising to bring Savannah straight home after their date. And no speeding.
Now, as he maneuvered the skiff over the water, enjoying the sound of her laughter, the way the wind and sun brought color into her high cheekbones, Dan decided that the brief discomfort spent undergoing Ida’s cross-examination had been worth it.
He was also considering sailing away with Savannah to some faraway island where they could spend their days basking in the sunshine on spun-sugar beaches and their nights making mad, passionate love.
Jack and Raine had gone to Bora Bora for their honeymoon, and both had waxed so enthusiastic about the South Seas island, he was tempted to try it out for himself.
“Something funny?” she asked, making him realize that he’d laughed out loud at the fanciful idea of the two of them sailing off into the sunset.
“I was just wondering how far it is to Tahiti.”
“I have no idea. But I suspect it’s a bit far for a first date.”
“Next time, then.”
Rather than point out that the idea was ridiculously impractical, Savannah smiled. “Perhaps.”
It was, Dan told himself, enough for now.
16
A s the air became crisper and the leaves began to turn colors, Savannah’s days fell into a predictable, yet enjoyable routine.
She’d get up early every morning so she could cook breakfast for the family. Cold cereal might be fine for summer vacation, but she was determined to send Gwen off to school properly fortified. She also took the time to observe Ida closely, watching for any additional signs of TIAs, but other than her usual malapropisms, her grandmother seemed as mentally sharp as ever. What she insisted on referring to as her “spells” when she would discuss them, which was hardly ever, seemed to have passed.
Days were spent at the lighthouse, which, thanks to part-time help from Dan, Henry, and John—who’d constructed a greenhouse on the grounds to supply her with fresh flowers—was coming closer to being completed with each passing day. Optimistic enough to believe that she would actually make her scheduled holiday opening, she’d placed ads in a few magazines and had brochures printed up which she’d sent out to travel agencies.
Things were definitely looking up.
Savannah was determined to never again define herself by a relationship, but she couldn’t deny that she’d be hard pressed to find a better relationship than the one she had with Dan.
He was smart, funny, sexy, and, best of all, he thought she was all those things, too. He didn’t expect her to be some starry-eyed young girl afraid to speak her mind. He didn’t even seem to expect her to look like a model all the time, which was a good thing since her nails were a disaster, her hair was in dire need of a trim, and there had been more than one occasion when, pressed for time, she’d actually taken jeans straight from the dryer and put them on without bothering to first starch and iron them.
Just last week Raine, who’d dropped by the lighthouse to see the progress, had marveled that even after a day spent cleaning sticky labels off acres of new window glass, her little sister was still fashion magazine material. Savannah, of course, knew otherwise. In what she’d come to realize was her own version of her sister’s attempt to be the perfect New York attorney, she’d spent a great many years looking perfect. It had always been an important part of her image. Her identity. It had also been exhausting.
She may be all too aware of her loosening standards, but amazingly, Dan seemed to believe she was beautiful however she looked. Even that day she’d forgotten to wear a cap while painting the ceiling and ended up with Glacier White paint spatters in her hair.
Not only did he spend every weekend working on the lighthouse with her, as her project progressed Savannah discovered she could talk with him about anything. And everything.
He didn’t think she was whining when she complained that the new flashing those outrageously expensive roofers had installed around one of the chimneys had ripped off during an early autumn storm, causing rain damage inside the house. She’d ended up having to restain a section of floor, which wasn’t as bad as it might have been, since they did it together on a Saturday.
He assured her that she wasn’t being overly critical when the faucets for the assistant keeper’s bathroom arrived in chrome, rather than the antique brass she’d ordered. And when the plumber did not show up as promised to install the Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom she’d built beneath the stairs leading to the lantern room—which she’d turned into a bedroom with a stunning 360-degree view—he’d written a terse legal letter that had encouraged the man to quickly finish the job.
They continued to spend nearly every evening together, at easy outings for which she didn’t even have to dress up: barbecue at Oley’s, sails on the sound, eating ice cream cones while they watched the ferry dock and the tourists—not as many now that Labor Day had come and gone—disembark.
While not a professional chef, he had, on more than one occasion, fixed dinner. She’d never had a man cook for her before, but that first night, as she’d sipped a crisp Blue Mountain chardonnay while he whipped up a platter of Dungeness crab cakes, grilled corn, and crisp green salad, Savannah decided that the experience came pretty close to heaven.
Since the chemistry between them was as strong as ever, stronger since they’d been practicing such strict self-denial, their relationship wasn’t totally platonic. Savannah loved to kiss him, adored the flex of his back muscles beneath her fingertips and reveled in the way he touched her in return.
She knew he wanted her. He told her that again and again with his lips, his hands, the rigid power of his erection that would press against her stomach as they made out like two frustrated teenagers on his wide suede couch. With each day that passed, she wanted Dan more, too.
But she had discovered that there was a di
fference between attraction and commitment. Having grown up watching marriage promises get ripped to pieces, Savannah had vowed that when she got married, it would be forever. Of course it hadn’t been, or she wouldn’t even be thinking about making love with Dan O’Halloran—which was something she thought about too much lately.
Since her divorce she’d made a new vow: there would be no more broken promises. To get naked with Dan could risk new cracks in a heart that had only recently mended.
Not that she believed he’d hurt her deliberately. He was the most natural, genuinely caring man she’d ever met. Dan O’Halloran was probably as close as she’d ever find to the perfect man. The kind of man a woman could imagine spending the rest of her life with.
If she were looking for a man to spend the rest of her life with. Which, of course, she wasn’t.
“I’ve made a decision,” Ida said.
Savannah was working on her menu plan. Thanksgiving was three weeks away, and she was sitting at the kitchen table, planning the menu. Raine had offered to have the family dinner at the farm, but since her sister’s culinary talents generally involved nuking meals in the microwave or heating up takeout, despite her desire to move into the lighthouse before the holiday weekend, Savannah had insisted on preparing the meal here at the house.
She did, after all, have a great deal to be thankful for this year.
“What decision is that, Gram?” she asked absently, trying to decide between chestnut and oyster dressing.
On the other hand, perhaps Amy would prefer sausage or cornbread. Maybe she could make all four, baking them in separate pans. The problem with that idea was that Ida’s old oven was definitely not as spacious as the state-of-the-art commercial one she’d installed in the lighthouse.
“I want to adopt Gwen.”
That got Savannah’s attention. She put her pen down and looked up at her grandmother. “What?”
“I said, I want to adopt Gwen.”
“Why?”
“To make her part of the family, of course.”
“She’s already part of the family.”
“Not legally.” Ignoring Dr. Burke’s warning about caffeine intake, Ida poured herself her third cup of coffee of the day and sat down at the table. “She’s still underage. There’s not a single thing to keep Old Fussbudget from showing up at the house and taking her away from us.”
Old Fussbudget, Savannah knew, was Gwen’s probation officer.
“Gwen’s behavior has been exemplary. She’s back at the top of her class, and unless something drastic happens, she looks to be a shoo-in for valedictorian.”
“The girl’s always gotten good grades, which is amazing when you consider what she’s been through.”
“Perhaps school was a refuge.”
“That’s the way I always saw it,” Ida agreed. “But you know how screwed up Social Services can be. They don’t seem to care about grades, or the fact that she’s always made honor roll, even the semester she had the baby. They’ve still put her in more foster homes than Carters has Pilgrims.”
Her eyes were flint, her jaw jutted out in a way Savannah recognized all too well. When her grandmother set her mind to something, you had three choices: give in, get out of the way, or get run over.
“Have you discussed this with Raine?”
“Not yet. But Raine’s family. I figured it’d look better if we had some other lawyer take care of it for us.”
Savannah knew exactly what other lawyer she was referring to. “Have you mentioned this adoption plan to Gwen?”
“Of course not. I didn’t want to get the girl’s hopes up. I figured I’d let Dan get all the initial paperwork done, then I’ll surprise her with the news on Thanksgiving Day.”
Savannah had no doubt that the teenager would be thrilled. There was, however, one possible major stumbling block to the plan. “I hate to bring this up, but what about your age?”
“What about it?”
She could have been trying to cross a minefield. “Well, you’re a bit older than most adoptive parents,” she said carefully.
“You surprise me, Savannah. Of all my family, I never thought you’d be one to throw cold water on my parade.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Fine.” Ida stood up. “Then you’ll ask Dan to get started with the necessary paperwork.”
“Why can’t you do that?”
“Because he’ll probably have a whole laundry list of reasons why it’s impractical and why Social Services is going to balk at the idea and why I might want to consider slowing down instead of taking on the responsibility of a teenager in my early seventies.”
Make that her late seventies. “There’s nothing wrong with slowing down a bit.” Savannah would dearly love to do exactly that. For just one day.
“Some old ladies might be content spending all their time knitting or playing bingo. But I’m like a salamander. If I don’t keep going forward, I die.
“So,” Ida finished up, “since I have no intention of wasting time arguing with a man whose butt I spanked when I brought him into this world, I figure you can be the one to ask him. Seems he’ll do just about anything for you these days.”
That stated, Ida left the room on a step that was, Savannah had to admit, pretty lively for a woman pushing eighty.
“Ida’s age might not be a problem to her,” Dan said two days later. They were at his house, where he was cooking dinner again. “But unfortunately, from what I could determine from my conversation with Old Fussbudget today, it is to Social Services. If Gwen were only older—”
“If she were older, she’d legally be an adult and wouldn’t need to be adopted to protect her interests in the first place,” Savannah pointed out.
“If the law were logical, the world wouldn’t need lawyers.” He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her.
“I know. But there must be something we can do.”
“I checked over the guardianship papers. They’re pretty tightly written. There would have to be an extremely compelling reason for Old Fussbudget and her minions to pull Gwen from Ida’s home, especially since she’s only got a few months to go until she turns eighteen.”
“Six,” Savannah said. “A lot can happen in six months.” Wasn’t she living proof of that?
“An alternative idea occurred to me while I was shaving this morning. We could get her declared an emancipated minor.”
“Can you do that?”
He grinned. “Piece of cake. As long as she keeps out of trouble,” he qualified.
“If she dares shoplift again, I’ll personally kill her for upsetting Gram.”
“Well, that would certainly take care of the custody issue. Though I have to admit, sweetheart, the idea of trying to kiss you through a set of prison bars isn’t all that appealing.”
She laughed, then moved over to the glass wall and looked out at the rising harvest moon that was splashing a coppery sheen over the wine-dark water.
“Every time I come here, I feel as if I’ve just stepped onto the bridge of the starship Enterprise,” she murmured. As magnificent as Dan’s house was from outside, the inside was even more stunning. The ceiling soared at least fifteen feet overhead, and a two-story stone fireplace took up nearly an entire wall. “Or the Millennium Falcon. Just before it went into warp speed.”
He came up behind her. “Believe me, sweetheart, when I finally talk you into my bed, I’m going to do my best to keep the pace a bit slower than that.”
“Promises, promises,” she laughed lightly as she leaned back against him.
“So, what’s my surprise?” He nuzzled her neck.
“Surprise?” The touch of his mouth on her skin was enough to wipe her mind as clear as the glass window.
“When I came by the lighthouse to pick you up this evening, you told me you had a surprise for me.”
“Oh. I do.” The brief discussion about Ida had made her forget. He murmured a protest when she slipped out of his light embrace and retrieved
her purse.
“‘Lucy Hyatt’s Far Harbor Adventure, Volume Two,’” he read aloud from the cover of the small notebook. “Where did you find this?”
“In the attic of the keeper’s house. I was putting some storage boxes up there when I noticed that the chimney looked strange. I pulled out a couple loose bricks, and there it was.”
“The lady certainly did work hard at hiding her journals,” he mused. “So, are there any juicy parts in it?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to save it to read with you.”
His wineglass paused on the way to his mouth. Something flickered in his eyes. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one,” she said as they settled down on the couch.
“‘The journey to Washington was even more thrilling than I could possibly have imagined,’” Savannah began to read, trying to keep her mind off the fact that they were in the very same spot where they’d driven each other to distraction only last night.
“‘The snow-capped Rocky Mountains were spectacular. When the train reached the top of its climb before going down the other side, the clouds cleared, revealing meadows ablaze with wildflowers as far as the eye could see, and crystal streams flowing from ancient glaciers. I felt as though I’d been granted a glimpse of Paradise. Indeed, had not I not been so eager to meet my husband-to-be, I would have been more than happy to spend eternity in that heavenly place.’”
“The Rockies have their appeal. But I’ll still take the Olympics any day,” Dan decided.
“Me, too.” It crossed Savannah’s mind that of all the places she’d lived over the world, this was the only one that had ever felt like home.
“‘Coldwater Cove, while not as breathtaking as the Rockies, proved every bit as charming as Harlan had described it,’” she continued. “‘While his letters had suggested that he was not a man prone to embellishment or untruths, as Hannah had reminded me on a daily basis, it’s not unusual for a man to prevaricate.’”