Looking for a Hero

by Debbie Macomber

  “There’s magic to this night, isn’t there?”

  “There must be,” he agreed.

  Her leg should be aching, and would be soon, but she hadn’t felt even a twinge. Perhaps later, when adrenaline wasn’t pumping through her body and she was back on planet Earth, she’d experience the familiar discomfort. But it hadn’t happened yet.

  “Your beach,” Nash announced, edging into the parking space at Alki Beach in West Seattle. A wide expanse of sandy shore stretched before them. Seattle’s lights glittered in the distance like decorations on a gaily lit Christmas tree. Gentle waves lapped the driftwood-strewn sand, and the scents of salt and seaweed hung in the air. “Make all your wishes this easy to fulfill, will you?”

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised. Her list was short, especially for a woman who, on this one night, was a princess in disguise.

  “Any other easy requests?” Nash asked. He moved closer and draped his arm across her shoulders.

  “A full moon would be nice.”

  “Will a crescent-shaped one do, instead?”

  “It’ll have to.”

  “Perhaps I could find a way to take your mind off the moon,” Nash suggested, his voice low and oddly breathless.

  “Oh?” Oh, please let him kiss me, Savannah pleaded. The night would be perfect if only Nash were to take her in his arms and kiss her....

  “Do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Kiss me, Nash. Please kiss me.”

  His mouth came down on hers and she thought she was ready for his sensual invasion, since she’d yearned for it so badly. But nothing could have prepared her for the greed they felt for each other. She linked her arms around his neck and gave herself to his touch.

  “Why is it,” Nash groaned, long minutes later as he breathed kisses across her cheeks, “that we seem to be forever kissing in a car?”

  “I...don’t know.”

  His lips toyed with hers. “You’re making this difficult.”

  “I am.” Her effect on him made Savannah giddy. It made her feel strong, and for a woman who’d felt weak most of her life, this was a potent aphrodisiac.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Nash whispered, just before he kissed her again.

  “Tonight I’m invincible,” she murmured. Privately she wondered if Cinderella had spent time like this with her prince before rushing off and leaving him with a single glass slipper. She wondered if her counterpart had the opportunity to experience such unexpected pleasure.

  Nash kissed her again and again, until a host of dizzying sensations accosted her from all sides. She broke away and buried her face in his chest in a desperate effort to clear her head.

  “Savannah.” Taking her by the shoulders, he eased back. “Look at me.”

  Blindly she obeyed him, running her tongue over lips that were swollen from the urgency of their kisses. “Touch me,” she pleaded, gazing at the desire in his eyes, the desire that was a reflection of her own.

  Nash went still, his breathing labored. “I can’t.... We’re on a public beach.” He closed his eyes. “That does it,” he said forcefully, pulling away from her. “We’re going to do this right. We’re not teenagers anymore. I want to make love to you, Savannah, and I’m not willing to risk being interrupted by a policeman who’ll arrest me for taking indecent liberties.” He reached for the ignition and started the car. She saw how badly his hand shook.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My house.”

  “Nash...”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “Kiss me first,” she said, not understanding his angry impatience. They had all night. She wouldn’t stop being a princess for hours yet.

  “I have every intention of kissing you. A lot.”

  “That sounds nice,” she whispered, and with a soft sigh pressed her head against his shoulder.

  After several minutes of silence, she said, “I’m not always beautiful.” She felt she should remind him of that.

  “I hate to argue with you, especially now,” he said, planting one last kiss on the corner of her mouth, “but I disagree.”

  “I’m really not,” she insisted, although she thought it was very kind of him to disagree.

  “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman in my life.”

  “You do?” It was so nice of him to say such things, but it wasn’t necessary. Unexpected tears filled her eyes. “No one’s ever said things like that to me before.”

  “Stupid fools.” They stopped at a red light and Nash reached for her and kissed her as if he longed to make up for a lifetime of rejection. Savannah brought her arms around his neck and sighed when he finally broke off the kiss.

  “You’re not drunk, are you?” Nash demanded, turning a corner sharply. He shot a wary glance at her, as if this was a recent suspicion.

  “No.” She was, just a little, but not enough to affect her judgment. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  “Right, but do you know what I intend on doing?”

  “Yes, you’re taking me home so we can make love in your bed. You’d prefer that to being arrested for doing it publicly.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “I’m not a girl!”

  “Sorry, slip of the tongue. Trust me, I know exactly how much of a woman you are.”

  “No, you don’t. You haven’t got a clue, Nash Davenport, but that’s all right because no one else does, either.” Herself included, but she didn’t say that.

  Nash pulled into his driveway and was apparently going faster than he realized, because when he hit his brakes the car jerked to an abrupt stop. “The way I’ve been driving, it’s a miracle I didn’t get a ticket,” he mumbled as he leapt out of the car. He opened her door, and Savannah smiled lazily and lifted her arms to him.

  “I don’t know if I can walk,” she said with a tired sigh. “I can dance, though, if anyone cares to ask.”

  He scooped her effortlessly into his arms and carried her to his front porch. Savannah was curious to see his home, curious to learn everything she could about him. She wanted to remember every second of this incredible night.

  It was a bit awkward getting the key in the lock and holding her at the same time, but Nash managed. He threw open the door and walked into the dark room. He hesitated, kicked the door closed and traipsed across the living room, not bothering to turn on the lights.

  “Stop,” she insisted.

  “For what? Savannah, you’re driving me crazy.”

  Languishing in his arms, she arched back her head and kissed his cheek. “What a romantic thing to say.”

  “Did you want something?” he asked impatiently.

  “Oh, yes, I want to see your home. A person can find out a great deal about someone just by seeing the kind of furniture he buys. Little things, too, like his dishes. And books and music and art.” She gave a tiny shrug. “I’ve been curious about you from the start.”

  “You want to know the pattern of my china?”

  “Well, yes...”

  “Can it wait until tomorrow? There are other things I’d rather be doing....”

  Nash moved expertly down the darkened hallway to his room. Gently he placed her on the mattress and knelt over her. She smiled up at him. “Oh, Nash, you have a four-poster bed. But...tomorrow’s too late.”

  “For what?”

  “Us. This—being together—will only work for one night. Then the princess disappears and I go back to being a pumpkin.” She frowned. “Or do I mean scullery maid?” She giggled, deciding her fracturing of the fairy tale didn’t matter.

  Nash froze and his eyes met hers, before he groaned and fell backward onto the bed. “You are drunk, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she insisted. “Just happy. Now kiss me and quit asking so many question
s.” She was reaching for him when it happened. The pain shot like fire through her leg and, groaning, she fell onto her side.

  Seven

  Nash recognized the effort Savannah made to hide her agony. It must have been excruciating; it was certainly too intense to disguise. Lying on her back, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, gritted her teeth and then attempted to manage the pain with deep-breathing exercises.

  “Savannah,” he whispered, not wanting to break her concentration and at the same time desperately needing to do something, anything, to ease her discomfort. “Let me help,” he pleaded.

  She shook her head. “It’ll pass in a few minutes.”

  Even in the moonlight, Nash could see how pale she’d become. He jumped off the bed and was pacing like a wild beast, feeling the searing grip of her pain himself. It twisted at his stomach, creating a mental torment unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  “Let me massage your leg,” he insisted, and when she didn’t protest he lifted the skirt of her full-length gown and ran his hands up and down her thigh. Her skin was hot to the touch and when he placed his chilled hands on her, she groaned anew.

  “It’ll pass.” He repeated her own words, praying he was right. His heart was pounding double-time in his anxiety. He couldn’t bear to see Savannah endure this unbearable pain, and stand by and do nothing.

  Her whole leg was terribly scarred and his heart ached at the agony she’d endured over the years. Her muscles were tense and knotted but gradually began to relax as he gently worked her flesh with both hands, easing them up and down her thigh and calf. He saw the marks of several surgeries; the scars were testament to her suffering and her bravery.

  “There are pills in my purse,” she whispered, her voice barely discernible.

  Nash quickly surveyed the room, jerking his head from left to right, wondering where she’d put it. He found the small clutch purse on the carpet. Grasping it, he emptied the contents on top of the bed. The brown plastic bottle filled with a prescription for pain medication rolled into view.

  Hurrying into his bathroom, he ran her a glass of water, then dumped a handful of the thick chalky tablets into the palm of his hand. “Here,” he said.

  Levering herself up on one elbow, Savannah took three of the pills. Her hands were trembling, he noted, and he could hardly resist taking her in his arms. Once she’d swallowed the pills, she closed her eyes and laid her head on the pillow.

  “Take me home, please.”

  “In a few minutes. Let’s give those pills a chance to work first.”

  She was sobbing openly now. Nash lay down next to her and gathered her in his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

  “For what?”

  “For ruining everything.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.” He brushed his lips over the crown of her head.

  “I...didn’t want you to see my leg.” Her tears came in earnest now and she buried her face in his shoulder.

  “Why?”

  “It’s ugly.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “For one night...”

  “You’re wrong, Savannah. You’re beautiful every minute of every day.” He cradled her head against him, whispering softly in her ear. Gradually he felt her tension diminish, and he knew by the even sound of her breathing that she was drifting off to sleep.

  Nash held her for several minutes, wondering what he should do. She’d asked that he take her home, but waking her seemed cruel, especially now that the terrible agony had passed. She needed her sleep, and movement might bring back the pain.

  What it came down to, he admitted reluctantly, was one simple fact. He wanted Savannah with him and was unwilling to relinquish her.

  Kissing her temple, he eased himself from her arms and crawled off the bed. He got a blanket from the top shelf in his closet and covered her with it, careful to tuck it about her shoulders.

  Looking down on her, Nash shoved his hands in his pockets and stared for several minutes.

  He wandered into the living room, slumped into his recliner and sat in the dark while the night shadows moved against the walls.

  He’d been selfish and inconsiderate, but above all he’d been irresponsible. Bringing Savannah to his home had been the most recent in a long list of errors in judgment.

  He was drunk, but not on champagne. His intoxication was strictly due to Savannah. The idealist. The romantic. Attending his sister’s wedding hadn’t helped matters any. Susan had been a beautiful bride and if there was ever a time he could believe in the power of love and the strength of vows, it was at her wedding.

  It’d started early in the evening when he’d exchanged vows with Savannah as if they were the ones being married. It was a moment out of time—dangerous and unreal.

  He’d attempted to understand what had happened, offered a litany of excuses, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever find one that would satisfy him. He wished there was someone or something he could blame, but that wasn’t likely. The best he could hope for was to forget the whole episode and pray Savannah did the same.

  Savannah. She was so beautiful. He’d never enjoyed dancing with a woman like he did with her. Smiling to himself, he recalled the way he’d been caught up in the magic of her joy. Being with her, sharing this night with her, was like being drawn into a fairy tale, impossible to resist even if he’d tried. And he hadn’t.

  Before he knew it, they were parked at Alki Beach, kissing like there was no tomorrow. He’d never desired a woman more.

  Wrong. There’d been a time, years earlier, when he’d been equally enthralled with a woman. In retrospect it was easy to excuse his naïveté. He’d been young and impressionable. And because of that, he’d fallen hopelessly in love.

  Love. He didn’t even like the sound of the word. He’d found love to be both painful and dangerous.

  Nash didn’t love Savannah. He refused to allow himself to wallow in that destructive emotion a second time. He was attracted to her, but love was out of the question. Denise had taught him everything he needed to know about that.

  He hadn’t thought of her, except in passing, in years. Briefly he wondered if she was happy, and doubted his ex-wife would ever find what she was searching for. Her unfaithfulness continued to haunt him even now, years after their divorce. For too long he’d turned a blind eye to her faults, all in the glorious name of love.

  He’d made other mistakes, too. First and foremost he’d married the wrong woman. His father had tried to tell him, but Nash had refused to listen, discrediting his advice, confident his father’s qualms about Nash’s choice in women were part and parcel of being too old to understand true love. Time had proved otherwise.

  Looking back, Nash realized he’d shared only one thing with Denise. Incredible sex. He’d mistaken her physical demands for love. Within a few weeks of meeting, they were living together and their sexual relationship had become addictive.

  It was ironic that she’d been the one to bring up the subject of marriage. Until then she’d insisted she was a “free spirit.” Not until much later did he understand this sudden need she had for commitment. With his father seriously ill, there was the possibility of a large inheritance.

  They’d been happy in the beginning. Or at least Nash had attempted to convince himself of that, and perhaps they were, but their happiness was short-lived.

  He’d first suspected something was wrong when he arrived home late one evening after a grueling day in court and caught the scent of a man’s cologne. He’d asked Denise and she’d told him he was imagining things. Because he wanted to believe her, because the thought of her being unfaithful was so completely foreign, he’d accepted her word. He had no reason to doubt her.

  His second clue came less than a month later when a woman he didn’t know met him outside his apartment. She was petite and fragile in her full-leng
th coat, her hands deep in the pockets, her eyes downcast. She hated to trouble him, she said, but could Nash please keep his wife away from her husband. She’d recently learned she was pregnant with their second child and wanted to keep the marriage together if she could.

  Nash had been stunned. He’d tried to ask questions, but she’d turned and fled. He didn’t say anything to Denise, not that night and not for a long time afterward. But that was when he started to notice the little things that should’ve been obvious.

  Nash hated himself for being so weak. He should have demanded the truth then and there, should have kicked her out of his home. Instead he did nothing. Denial was comfortable for a week and then two, while he wrestled with his doubts.

  Savannah’s scarred leg was a testament to her bravery, her endless struggle to face life each and every day. His scarred emotions were a testament to his cowardice, to knowing that his wife was cheating on him and accepting it rather than confronting her with the truth.

  His wife had been cheating on him. What an ineffectual word that was for what he felt. It sounded so...trivial. So insignificant. But the sense of betrayal was sharper than any blade, more painful than any incision. It had slashed his ego, punctured his heart and forever changed the way he viewed love and life.

  Nash had loved Denise; he must have, otherwise she wouldn’t have had the power to hurt him so deeply. That love had burned within him, slowly twisting itself into a bitter desire to get even.

  The divorce had been ugly. Nash attempted to use legal means to retaliate for what Denise had done to him emotionally. Unfortunately there was no compensation for what he’d endured. He’d learned this countless times since from other clients. He’d wanted to embarrass and humiliate her the way she had him, but in the end they’d both lost.

  Following their divorce, Denise had married again almost immediately. Her new husband was a man she’d met three weeks earlier. Nash kept tabs on her for some time afterward and was downright gleeful when he learned she was divorcing again less than a year later.

  For a long while Nash was convinced he hated Denise. In some ways he did; his need for revenge had been immature. But as the years passed, he was able to put their short marriage in perspective, and he was grateful for the lessons she’d taught him. Paramount was the complete unreliability of love and marriage.