Each Time We Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  It had taken her a long time to piece together the puzzle that had been Davalos, but from things her mother had said or not said, and from Bodene's recounting of his early memories, Savanna had finally come to several unpleasant conclusions about her father: he had seduced Elizabeth because he had assumed that Innis would settle a fortune on her, and when that had failed, he had kept their very existence a secret because he didn't want to lessen his chances of perhaps making a wealthy match for himself. Savanna had wondered grimly for many years why he had even bothered with them at all, and it was only recently that she had concluded that, in his fashion, he had loved Elizabeth, and perhaps even herself....

  Bodene glanced across at Savanna's set face, knowing that as hard as it had been for him to deal with his illegitimacy, to ignore the taunts and sly jeers, the contemptuous looks and scandalized glances, it had been a hundred times harder for her.

  Savanna suddenly gave an uncomfortable laugh and flashed him a wry look. "Sorry," she muttered, "but every time I think about those days, I'm afraid I live up to my red hair!"

  Bodene smiled faintly, but there was a thoughtful expression in his dark eyes. "Savanna, someday you're going to have to forgive him.... What he did may be incomprehensible to us, and how Elizabeth could have gone on loving him may always mystify us, but you're going to have to accept it. As long as you hold the past against him, it's going to eat you alive."

  Her features closed down and Bodene bit back a curse. "You have every reason to be angry with Davalos—he should have married your mother, I don't deny it. But he didn't, and the man is dead!" he said urgently. "Has been for over ten years. He can't change anything now, so give him credit for trying to rectify some of the wrong he'd done to you—didn't he leave you everything he owned?"

  Savanna snorted. "Do you think money is going to make any difference to me? Besides, as you well know, it was no fortune I inherited from him—only a ramshackle house and a hundred and fifty arpents of land with broken levees south of New Orleans, all that remained of his family's plantation." Her face softened and she smiled warmly at Sam, who, oblivious of the argument raging around his grizzled head, was busily gathering up the dishes. "Oh, and Sam. He gave me Sam and his family."

  Sam grinned at her. "That he did, missy, and it was right wonderful of you to have given us our papers. Fine thing you did setting us free."

  Bodene looked impatient. "Yes, it was a fine thing she did, fine, too, that she used what money there was to make the house livable and insisted Elizabeth live there, but it is not fine that she persists in living in this godforsaken hellhole or that you're abetting her pure bloody cussedness!" Bodene was shouting by the time he came to the end of his words, his hold on his temper extremely light. The look of amused tolerance that passed between Savanna and Sam was his undoing, and smashing his fist against the table, he snarled, "Jesus Christ! You're both crazy! Don't you realize that one of these days Micajah, or someone like him, is going to catch you by surprise, and if you survive—which isn't damn likely, knowing him—you'll have been raped and abused, possibly left pregnant with his child—or won't even know the father if his whole gang takes their pleasures, too!"

  Savanna's face went white at his brutal words and Bodene was satisfied to see a flicker of unease in her beautiful eyes. Good! At least she hadn't lost all sense of self-preservation. His rage dissipating at the strained expression on her face, he said in a softer tone, "I love you—it would damn near kill me if something happened to you. Won't you let me help you?" When she didn't respond, he took heart and added, "I know you've worked hard to reestablish yourself since Stack Island sank in the earthquake four years ago, and I know you're proud that what you've accomplished you've done on your own. But this is no life for you. You're young! You're beautiful! You shouldn't be wasting away here in a damned swamp!" He took a deep breath. "Pride is a fine thing, just don't let it kill you."

  Bodene's words bit deep and Savanna was painfully aware of the truth in everything that he had said. She had always understood the risks she ran, and while Bodene might think to the contrary, she wasn't a fool. It was just that she felt more comfortable living in the familiar surroundings and circumstances she had known from earliest childhood. New Orleans with all its exciting pleasures fascinated her, but it also made her uneasy and vaguely frightened. Campo de Verde was certainly not a grand plantation—too few acres remained of the once-vast Davalos estate—but with Bodene's help and money, the house and outbuildings had been repaired and refurbished and the levees rebuilt. With Sam's children, Isaac and Moses, and their families to work the remaining land, her mother had a life of reasonable comfort and semi-gentility. Savanna had felt constricted and smothered during the five years that she had lived there with her mother, and at eighteen she had stunned both Elizabeth and Bodene when, taking only Sam with her, she had struck out on her own, returning to the small tavern that Elizabeth had run on Crow's Nest while Davalos had been alive.

  Elizabeth had been devastated by the news of Davalos's death, but to this day Savanna was still confused about her feelings for her father. She didn't think that she had ever truly loved the dark stranger whom she had seen so seldom over the years, but she had never forgotten those early days when he had been a source of laughter and delight to both herself and her mother. It had been to please him that she had learned to speak Spanish, hoping it would make him proud of her—and it had. Even now, knowing what she did about him, she remembered the pleased glow that had suffused his features when, the last time she had ever seen him, she had shyly welcomed him in Spanish and he had praised her accomplishment. But if she remembered the good times, and there had been a few, she also remembered her mother's tears and desolation when Davalos would once again desert them....

  Pushing aside her unpleasant thoughts with an effort, she smiled at Bodene and replied with forced lightness to his earlier comment. "You worry too much, Bodene—you just can't face it that I've grown up and don't need you to fight my battles anymore."

  Bodene snorted and was on the point of replying when the silver bell tinkled—once. The intent expression that suddenly came into Savanna's eyes stopped him, and as the seconds passed, her face paled, but her gaze remained locked on that silver bell, almost as if she were willing it to ring again. "What is it?" Bodene asked sharply, reaching for the short-barreled pistol he kept handy at all times.

  Tearing her eyes away from the bell, she reached for the rifle she had held earlier, as well as another one she kept behind the oak counter. Deftly tossing the second rifle to Bodene, she said urgently, "The bell is our signal—Sam's in trouble! Bad trouble!"

  Chapter 2

  "What the hell do you mean, signal?" Bodene rasped as he caught the rifle and crowded against the wall, the rifle held ready.

  Impatiently Savanna hissed, "The damn bell! We have them scattered throughout all the buildings with pull-ropes in handy places. One ring means desperate situation; two, that someone looking like or for trouble is approaching; and three, that strangers are nearing and to be on the alert. Either Sam has somehow hurt himself or—"

  "Or Murdering Micajah has returned," Bodene snapped.

  Savanna gave a sharp nod of her red-gold head and muttered, "My, my, how clever you have become these days."

  A scuffling sound from the dogtrot caused both of them to freeze. They exchanged a tense look and then Bodene melted into the shadows and Savanna dashed behind the counter, concealing the rifle, but ready to snatch it up in an instant.

  Twilight had fallen, and since they had been so busy conversing, the candles and lamps had not yet been lit and the inside of the small tavern was filled with murky shadows. Savanna could hardly make out Bodene's large form in the corner, but simply knowing he was there helped to calm the nervous tension that coiled in her belly.

  Sam was suddenly shoved violently through the doorway of the dogtrot, his face contorted by the pain in his right arm, which was twisted behind him. A wicked knife blade was held menacingly against his th
roat. Over Sam's shoulder, Savanna saw Micajah Yates's stubble-covered face, his lank brown hair hanging almost to his shoulders and a smug smile curving his too-full lips.

  Micajah Yates was not an ugly man, his eyes were very blue and his coarsely handsome features seemed appropriate for his big, burly build; but unfortunately, soap and water were not often employed by him, and he had the most unappealing habit of killing anyone who annoyed him or had the bad luck to cross his path when he was in a nasty mood. At thirty-six years of age, he was a well-known robber and murderer, and Savanna and Bodene had been acquainted with him from the early days at Crow's Nest.

  Unaware of Bodene lurking in the darkness behind him, Micajah pushed Sam farther into the room and drawled, "Surprised to see me again so soon, Savanna?"

  Savanna's eyes narrowed, and leaning her elbows on the counter, grateful for the nearness of the concealed rifle, she shrugged. "Should I be?"

  "Now that depends," Micajah said, "on whether you really thought you had bested me the last time I was here."

  "Why don't you let Sam go and we can discuss it?" she replied levelly, her slim fingers inching toward the rifle as her eyes met Sam's.

  Micajah smiled. "Now, I don't believe we can do that, sweetheart. If I let Sam here go, you'll try to shoot me with that rifle you think you're hiding from me. Think I didn't learn anything from our last encounter?"

  Savanna took a deep breath and forced a smile, neither stopping her movement toward the rifle nor admitting the truth of his statement. "So what do we do now?"

  Micajah's blue eyes roamed over her face and full bosom, and at the hungry expression that leaped in their depths, Savanna's mouth went dry with fear. It was with an effort that she kept her gaze from straying to Bodene, poised just behind the unsuspecting Micajah.

  "What you do now," Yates said, "is very slowly put the rifle on the counter in front of you and come out from behind it, and if you don't—why, I'm afraid I'll just have to cut this here nigger's throat, and you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

  Despite the tenseness of the situation, Savanna felt rage billowing up, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And then?" she demanded.

  He stripped her with his eyes. "And then," he said, "you tie up Sam for me and we go upstairs for a few hours." He smiled again. "If you're real nice to me, I might not kill him when I'm through with you."

  Rage got the better of her, and forgetting all about Bodene, she swung the rifle up and into position, the long barrel pointed at Micajah's head. Her voice thick with fear and loathing, she snarled, "Go ahead, kill him—but be aware that before his body hits the floor, I'll shoot you between the eyes."

  "No," Bodene said softly from behind Yates. "I insist, little cousin, that you allow me that pleasure." Shoving the rifle barrel into the middle of Micajah's back, Bodene drawled dangerously, "And now what are you going to do, my dirty friend?"

  His confident air vanished and his expression chagrined, Micajah laughed nervously. "Sullivan! I should have knowed you'd be around somewhere." Hoping to escape with his hide intact, and never one to argue when the odds were against him, Micajah carefully released Sam's arm and with equal caution moved the blade away from Sam's throat. "Seems like you bested me again, Savanna," he declared heartily. Undaunted by his dangerous position, he added, "Now how about we all put away our weapons and sit down and have a whiskey together—just to show that there are no hard feelings."

  Sam staggered away from Micajah and sank onto one of the chairs, cradling the arm that had been so viciously held behind his back. Savanna's rifle never wavered and she asked anxiously, "Sam? How bad is it?"

  Sam grinned, albeit painfully, and murmured, "Not so bad, missy. He surprised me when I went back into the kitchen—was all over me before I even knew what happened. I'se be all right directly. Don't you worry none about ole Sam."

  Savanna exchanged a look with Bodene, who grimaced and shrugged his broad shoulders. His own rifle still shoved between Micajah's shoulder blades, he said thoughtfully, "I've never killed a man in cold blood before, but I suppose there's always a first time."

  "Now look here!" Micajah bit out."I've done right by you—didn't I let Sam go?"

  Bodene smiled grimly. "Only because you didn't want to get a hole blown through you." He shoved the rifle deeper into Micajah's back and continued acidly. "And if I hadn't been here, God knows what you might have done.... I've a good mind to shoot you anyway."

  "Now, Bodene, you know you don't want to do that," the outlaw replied quickly. "Why, we've known each other since you were just a boy—I didn't mean no real harm." An uneasy smile crossed his face. "And Savanna's such a tempting baggage, you can't blame me for losing my head a little."

  Savanna snorted and said through gritted teeth, "Try something like this again and you will lose your head—I'll put a bullet through it!"

  "And if, just by chance, she were to miss," Bodene added with soft menace, "you can be sure I would hunt you down like the dog you are and I wouldn't miss. Do you understand?"

  "'Course I understand! Think I'm a fool? I just don't understand why you all are going on about it. Nothing happened!"

  "Oh, shut up, Micajah," Savanna said disgustedly. "Drop the knife and get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

  The knife clattered to the floor and Micajah was out the door in an instant. Picking up the fallen weapon, Bodene said quietly, "He'll be back, you know that, don't you?"

  "Yes, and I'll say it for you—next time I might not be so lucky," Savanna muttered, not meeting his eyes. She wasn't about to admit it, but this recent attack by Micajah had scared her. If she'd had any doubts about the extent of his mulish infatuation, it was now obvious that he just wasn't going to give up; he was going to keep trying, and one of these days... Savanna shivered. If Bodene hadn't been there, it might have ended very differently than it had, and she was miserably aware of that unpleasant fact. Because of her own stubbornness, Sam might have died, and it didn't bear thinking about what she would have suffered at Micajah's hands. Bodene was right—there was no use letting her pride destroy her.

  She glanced over at her cousin. "How long do you intend to stay?" she asked reluctantly.

  "As long as it takes to convince you to stop being a muleheaded little fool!" he snapped, the obstinate thrust of his jaw apparent.

  Her eyes traveled over to Sam, and meeting his dark, compassionate gaze, she knew the decision that she had to make.

  Savanna couldn't remember a time when Sam and his two sons hadn't been part of the household. While Elizabeth had been busy tending the tavern, since his wife had died years before, it had been Sam, in between helping Elizabeth, who had watched over all the children and seen to their needs.

  Savanna and Bodene had grown up playing with Isaac and Moses, who were just a few years older than Bodene. Elizabeth had been there for soft hugs and gentle kisses, but Sam had been their main parental figure. He'd been a kind tyrant, fair but implacable about what he expected from them, and his hand had warmed their bottoms on more than one occasion. As Savanna had gotten older, her mother had explained that Sam and his children were actually owned by Davalos; that since he was gone so often and he didn't want them lazing around, he had ordered them to stay with her and earn their keep. Savanna had been appalled, and when Davalos had died, giving Sam his freedom papers had been one of the most satisfying acts of her life. In the intervening years he had repaid her a thousand times with his unstinting loyalty.

  A tender expression crossed her face. If it hadn't been for Sam's volunteering to accompany her when she had decided to leave Campo de Verde, she doubted that she would ever have been able to accomplish all that she had—or that Elizabeth and Bodene wouldn't have forcibly restrained her from setting off totally on her own. Neither Elizabeth or Bodene had been happy about the situation, but with Sam willing to go with her, most of their arguments had evaporated. While she had been recklessly determined to make O'Rourke's Tavern a success all on her own; there had been many a time
that she had been grateful for Sam's solid, reassuring presence, and there had been times without number when Sam had come up to her while she had been intent upon some backbreaking task and said softly, "Well, now, missy. It looks as if you could use some help. There is no cause for you to be working yoreself into the ground when I'se around. Didn't I tell yore mama that I'd look after you just as I alwus done?"

  There were many desperate situations that Savanna could have endured, but she wouldn't be able to live with herself if Sam were badly hurt or killed because of her. Straightening her slim shoulders, she flashed a rueful look at Bodene. "I'll need a few days to get things organized. There's an old trapper friend of Sam's who might be willing to move in and take over everything until I decide what to do with the place, but he has to be found and that might take a while."