Looking for a Hero

by Debbie Macomber

  Savannah must have looked more wistful than she realized because when the next number was announced, Arnold Serle reached for her hand. “This dance is mine.”

  Savannah was almost too flabbergasted to speak. “I...can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Nonsense.” With that, the smiling older man all but pulled her from her chair.

  Six

  Savannah was close to tears. She couldn’t dance and now she was being forced onto the ballroom-style floor by a sweet older man who didn’t realize she had a limp. He hadn’t even noticed it. Humiliation burned her cheeks. The wonderful romantic fantasy she was living was about to blow up in her face. Then, when she least expected to be rescued, Nash was at her side, his hand at her elbow.

  “I believe this dance is mine, Mr. Serle,” he said, whisking Savannah away from the table.

  Relief rushed through her, until she saw that he was escorting her onto the dance floor himself. “Nash, I can’t,” she said in a heated whisper. “Please don’t ruin this day for me.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, but you don’t seem to understand....”

  Understand or not, he led her confidently onto the crowded floor, turned and gathered her in his arms. “All I want you to do is relax. I’ll do the work.”

  “Nash!”

  “Relax, will you?”

  “No... Please take me back to the table.”

  Instead he grasped her hands and raised them, tucking them around his neck. Savannah turned her face away from him. Their bodies fit snugly against each other and Nash felt warm and substantial. His thigh moved against hers, his chest grazed her breasts and a slow excitement began to build within her. After holding her breath, she released it in a long, trembling sigh.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Lying would be pointless.

  “We’re going to make this as simple and easy as possible. All you have to do is hold on to me.” He held her close, his hands clasped at the base of her spine. “This isn’t so bad now, is it?”

  “I’ll never forgive you for this, Nash Davenport.” Savannah was afraid to breathe again for fear she’d stumble, for fear she’d embarrass them both. She’d never been on a dance floor in her life and try as she might, she couldn’t make herself relax the way he wanted. This was foreign territory to her, the girl who’d never been asked to a school dance. The girl who’d watched and envied her friends from afar. The girl who’d only waltzed in her dreams with imaginary partners. And not one of them had been anything like Nash.

  “Maybe this will help,” Nash whispered. He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck with his warm, moist mouth.

  “Nash!” She squirmed against him.

  “I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he whispered. Goose bumps shivered up her arms as his tongue made lazy circles along one ear. Her legs felt as if they’d collapse, and she involuntarily pressed her weight against him.

  “Please stop that!” she said from between clenched teeth.

  “Not on your life. You’re doing great.” He made all the moves and, holding her the way he was, took the weight off her injured leg so she could slide with him.

  “I’ll embarrass us both any minute,” she muttered.

  “Just close your eyes and enjoy the music.”

  Since they were in the middle of the floor, Savannah had no choice but to follow his instructions. Her chance to escape gracefully had long since passed.

  The music was slow and easy, and when she lowered her lashes, she could pretend. This was the night, she’d decided earlier, to play the role of princess. Only she’d never expected her Cinderella fantasy to make it all the way to the ballroom floor.

  “You’re a natural,” he whispered. “Why have you waited so long?”

  She was barely moving, which was all she could manage. This was her first experience, and although she was loath to admit it, Nash was right; she was doing well. This must be a dream, a wonderful romantic dream. If so, she prayed it’d be a very long time before she woke.

  As she relaxed, Nash’s arms moved to a more comfortable position. She lowered her own arm just a little, and her fingers toyed with the short hair at his neck. It was a small but intimate gesture, to run her fingers through his hair, and she wondered at her courage. It might be just another facet of her fantasy, but it seemed the action of a lover or a wife.

  Wife.

  In the church, when they’d repeated the vows, Nash had called her his friend, his lover, his wife. But it wasn’t real. But for now, she was in his arms and they were dancing cheek to cheek, as naturally as if they’d been partners for years. For now, she would make it real, because she so badly wanted to believe it.

  “Who said you couldn’t dance?” he asked her after a while.

  “Shh.” She didn’t want to talk. These moments were much too precious to waste on conversation. This time was meant to be savored and enjoyed.

  The song ended, and when the next one started almost without pause, the beat was fast. Her small bubble of happiness burst. Her disappointment must have been obvious because Nash chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “If we can waltz, we can do this.”

  “Nash... I could do the slow dance because you were holding me, but this is impossible.”

  Nash, however, wasn’t listening. He was dancing. Without her. His arms jerked back and forth, and his feet seemed to be following the same haphazard course. He laughed and threw back his head. “Go for it, Savannah!” He shouted to be heard above the music. “Don’t just stand there. Dance!”

  She was going to need to move—off the dance floor. She was about to turn away when Nash clasped her around the waist, holding her with both hands. “You can’t quit now.”

  “Oh, yes, I can. Just watch me.”

  “All you need to do is move a little to the rhythm. You don’t need to leap across the dance floor.”

  There was no talking to him, so she threw her arms in the air in abject frustration.

  “That’s it,” he shouted enthusiastically.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” Arnold Serle’s voice said from behind her. “Nash, would you mind if I danced with Savannah now?” he shouted.

  Nash looked at Savannah and grinned, as cheerful as a six-year-old pulling a prank on his first-grade teacher. “Savannah would love to. Isn’t that right?” With that, he danced his way off the floor.

  “Ready to rock ’n’ roll?” Arnold asked.

  Savannah didn’t mean to laugh, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m not very good at this.”

  “Shall we?” he said, holding out his palm to her.

  Reluctantly she placed her hand in his. She didn’t want to offend Nash’s boss, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself, either. Taking Nash’s advice, she moved her arms, just a little at first, swaying back and forth, convinced she looked like a chicken attempting flight. Others around her were wiggling and twisting in every which direction. Savannah’s movements, or lack of them, weren’t likely to be noticed.

  To her utter amazement, Mr. Serle began to twist vigorously. His dancing was reminiscent of 1960s teen movies she’d seen on TV. With each jerking motion he sank closer to the floor, until he was practically kneeling. After a moment he stopped moving. He hunkered there, one arm stretched forward, one elbow back.

  “Mr. Serle, are you all right?”

  “Would you mind helping me up? My back seems to have gone out on me.”

  Savannah looked frantically around for Nash, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was silently calling him several colorful names for getting her into this predicament. With no other alternative, she bent forward, grabbed the older man’s elbow and pulled him into an upright position.

  “Thanks,” he said, with a bright smile. “I got carried away there and forgot I’m practically an old man. Sure felt go
od. My heart hasn’t beaten this fast in years.”

  “Maybe we should sit down,” she suggested, praying he’d agree.

  “Not on your life, young lady. I’m only getting started.”

  * * *

  Nash made his way back to the table, smiling to himself. He hadn’t meant to embarrass Savannah. His original intent had been to rescue her. Taking her onto the dance floor was pure impulse. All night he’d been looking for an excuse to hold her, and he wasn’t about to throw away what might be his only chance.

  Beautiful didn’t begin to describe Savannah. When he’d first met her, he’d thought of her as cute. He’d dated women far more attractive than she was. On looks alone, she wasn’t the type that stood out in a crowd. Nor did she have a voluptuous body. She was small, short and proportioned accordingly. If he was looking for long shapely legs and an ample bust, he wouldn’t find either in Savannah. She wasn’t a beauty, and yet she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

  That didn’t make a lot of sense. He decided it was because he’d never met anyone quite like Savannah Charles. He didn’t fully understand why she appealed to him so strongly. True, she had a compassionate heart, determination and courage—all qualities he admired.

  “Is Arnold out there making a world-class fool of himself?” John Stackhouse asked, when Nash joined the elder of the two senior partners at their table.

  “He’s dancing with Savannah.”

  John Stackhouse was by far the most dignified and reserved of the two. Both were members of the executive committee, which had the final say on the appointment of the next senior partner. Stackhouse was often the most disapproving of the pair. Over the years, Nash had been at odds with him on more than one occasion. Their views on certain issues invariably clashed. Although he wasn’t particularly fond of the older man, Nash respected him, and considered him fair-minded.

  John Stackhouse sipped from his wineglass. “Actually, I’m pleased we have this opportunity to talk,” he said to Nash, arching an eyebrow. “A wedding’s not the place to bring up business, as Arnold correctly pointed out, but I believe now might be a good time for us to talk about the senior partnership.”

  Nash’s breath froze in his lungs, and he nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

  “You’ve been with the firm a number of years now, and worked hard. We’ve won some valuable cases because of you, and that’s in your favor.”

  “Glad to hear that.” So Paul Jefferson didn’t have it sewn up the way he’d assumed.

  “I don’t generally offer advice...”

  This was true enough. Stackhouse kept his opinions to himself until asked, and it boded well that he was willing to make a few suggestions to Nash. Although he badly wanted the position, Nash still didn’t think he had a chance against Paul. “I’d appreciate any advice you care to give me.”

  “Arnold and a couple of the other members of the executive committee were discussing names. Yours was raised almost immediately.”

  Nash moved forward, perching on the end of his chair. “What’s the consensus?”

  “Off the record.”

  “Off the record,” Nash assured him.

  “You’re liked and respected, but there’s a problem, a big one as far as the firm’s concerned. The fact is, I’m the one who brought it up, but the others claimed to have noticed it, as well.”

  “Yes?” Nash’s mind zoomed over the list of potential areas of trouble.

  “You’ve been divorced for years now.”

  “Yes.”

  “This evening’s the first time I’ve seen you put that failure behind you. I’ve watched you chew on your bitterness like an old bone, digging it up and showing it off like a prized possession when it suited you. You’ve developed a cutting, sarcastic edge. That’s fine in the courtroom, but a detriment in your professional life as well as your private life. Especially if you’re interested in this senior partnership.”

  “I’m interested,” Nash was quick to tell him, too quick perhaps because Stackhouse smiled. That happened so rarely it was worth noting.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  “Is there anything I could do to help my chances?” This conversation was unprecedented, something Nash had never believed possible.

  The attorney hesitated and glanced toward the dance floor, frowning. “How serious are you about this young woman?”

  Of all the things Nash had thought he might hear, this was the one he least expected. “Ah...” Nash was rarely at a loss for words, but right now he had no idea how to answer. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “I realize it’s presumptuous of me, and I do hope you’ll forgive me, but it might sway matters if you were to marry again.”

  “Marry?” he repeated, as if the word was unfamiliar to him.

  “It would show the committee that you’ve put the past behind you,” John continued, “and that you’re trying to build a more positive future.”

  “I...see.”

  “Naturally, there are no guarantees and I certainly wouldn’t suggest you consider marriage if you weren’t already thinking along those lines. I wouldn’t have said anything, but I noticed the way you were dancing with the young lady and it seemed to me you care deeply for her.”

  “She’s special.”

  The other man nodded. “Indeed she is. Would you mind terribly if I danced with her myself? I see no reason for Arnold to have all the fun.” Not waiting for Nash to respond, he stood and made his way across the dance floor to Savannah and his friend.

  Nash watched as John Stackhouse tapped his fellow attorney on the shoulder and cut in. Savannah smiled as the second man claimed her.

  Marry!

  Nash rubbed his face. A few months earlier, the suggestion would have infuriated him. But a few months earlier, he hadn’t met Savannah.

  Nor had he stood in a church, held hands with an incredible woman and repeated vows. Vows meant for his sister and the man she loved. Not him. Not Savannah. Yet these vows had come straight from his heart to hers. He hadn’t intended it to be that way. Not in the beginning. All he’d wanted to do was show Savannah how far he’d come. Repeating a few words seemed a small thing at the time.

  But it wasn’t as simple as all that. Because everything had changed from that moment forward. He’d spoken in a haze, not fully comprehending the effect it was having on him. All he understood was that he was tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of pretending he didn’t need anyone else. Tired of playing a game in which he would always be the loser. Those vows he’d recited with Savannah had described the kind of marriage she believed in so strongly. It was an ideal, an uncommon thing, but for the first time in years he was willing to admit it was possible. A man and a woman could share this loving, mutually respectful partnership. Savannah had made it real to him the moment she’d repeated the vows herself.

  Marry Savannah.

  He waited for the revulsion to hit him the way it usually did when someone mentioned the word marriage. Nothing happened. Of course, that was perfectly logical. He’d spent time in a wedding shop, making a multitude of decisions that revolved around Susan’s wedding. He’d become immune to the negative jolt the word always struck in him.

  But he expected some adverse reaction. A twinge, a shiver of doubt. Something.

  It didn’t come.

  Marriage. He repeated it slowly in his mind. No, he’d never consider anything so drastic. Not for the sole reason of making senior partner. He’d worked hard. It was a natural progression; if he didn’t get the appointment now, he would later.

  Marriage to Savannah. If there was ever a time the wine was talking, it was now.

  * * *

  Savannah had never experienced a night she’d enjoyed more. She’d danced and drunk champagne, then danced again. Every time she’d turned around, there was someone waiting to dance w
ith her or fill her glass.

  “Oh, Nash, I had the most incredible night of my life,” she said, leaning against the headrest in his car and closing her eyes. It was a mistake, because the world went on a crazy spin.

  “That good, was it?”

  “Yes, oh, yes. I hate to see it end.”

  “Then why should it? Where would you like to go?”

  “You’ll take me anywhere?”

  “Name it.”

  “The beach. I want to go to the beach.” She was making a fool of herself, but she didn’t care. She wanted to throw out her arms and sing. Where was a mountaintop when she needed one?

  “Your wish is my command,” Nash said to her.

  She slipped her hand around his upper arm and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. “That’s how I feel about tonight. It’s magical. I could ask for anything and somehow it would be given to me.”

  “I believe it would.”

  Excited now that her fantasy had become so real, she lowered the car window and let out a wild whoop of joy.

  Nash laughed. “What was that for?”

  “I’m so happy! I never dreamed I could dance like that. Did you see me? Did you see all the men who asked me?” She brought her hand to her chest. “Me. I always thought I couldn’t dance, and I did, and I owe it all to you.”

  “I knew you could do it.”

  “But how...”

  “You can walk, can’t you?”

  “Yes, but I assumed it was impossible to dance.” The champagne had affected her, but she welcomed the light-headedness it produced. “Oh, did you see Mr. Stackhouse? I thought I’d burst out laughing. I’m convinced he’s never done the twist in his life.” The memory made her giggle.

  “I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Nash said and she heard the amusement in his voice. “Neither could Arnold Serle. Arnold said they’ve been friends for thirty-five years and he’s never seen John do anything like it, claimed he was just trying to outdo him. That’s when he leapt onto the dance floor, too, and the three of you started a conga line.”