Looking for a Hero

by Debbie Macomber

  “Raise Janice’s monthly allotment by five hundred dollars.”

  Nash sighed inwardly. This was a difficult case and not for the usual reasons. “Sit down, Mr. Griffin,” he said. “Please.”

  Don complied and sat down. He bounced his fingers against each other and studied Nash as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Janice hasn’t requested any extra money,” Nash said.

  “She might need it. Amy, too. There are a hundred unexpected expenses that crop up. I don’t want her having to scrimp. It’s important to me that my wife and daughter live comfortably.”

  “You’ve been more than generous.”

  “Just do as I say. I’m not paying you to argue with me.”

  “No, you’re paying me for advice and I’m about to give you some, so kindly listen. It doesn’t come cheap.”

  Don snorted loudly. “No kidding. I just got your last bill.”

  Nash smiled. His clients were often shocked when they learned how expensive divorce could be. Not only financially, but emotionally. Nash had seen it happen more times than he cared to think about. Once his clients realized how costly a divorce could be, they were already embroiled in bitterness and it was impossible to undo the damage.

  “Do you know what you’re doing, giving Janice extra money?” he asked.

  “Sure I do. I’m attempting to take care of my wife and daughter.”

  “You’re already doing that. Offering them more money is more about easing your conscience. You want to absolve your guilt because you had an affair.”

  “It wasn’t an affair,” Don shouted. “It was a one-night thing, a momentary lapse that I’ve regretted every moment since. Janice would never have found out about it if it hadn’t been for—never mind, that doesn’t matter now. She found out about it and immediately called an attorney.”

  “My point is, she learned about your indiscretion and now you want to buy peace of mind. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.”

  “All I’m trying to do is get this divorce over with.”

  Tony Pound, Janice’s attorney, wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what he was doing, dragging the proceedings out as long as possible to prolong the guilt and the agony. To Nash’s way of thinking, his client had been punished enough.

  “This is one mistake you aren’t going to be paying monetarily for the rest of your life,” Nash assured him. “And I plan to make sure of it. That’s why John Stackhouse asked me to take your case. You’ve lost your wife, your home, your daughter. You’ve paid enough. Now go back to your apartment and relax. I’ll contact you when I hear from Mr. Pound.”

  Don Griffin nodded reluctantly. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer,” Nash assured him.

  He rose slowly from the chair. “You’ll be in touch soon?”

  Nash said he would. Don left the office and Nash sat down to review his file for the hundredth time. He was missing something, he realized. That cold-blooded instinct for the kill.

  He wasn’t enjoying this, wasn’t even close to experiencing the satisfaction he usually gained from bringing his opponents to their knees. Somewhere along the line he’d changed. He’d sensed things were different shortly after he’d met Savannah. Now there was no hiding his feelings. He’d lost it. Only, he wasn’t sure what he’d found in exchange.

  “Have you got a moment?” John Stackhouse stuck his head in Nash’s office.

  “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  The senior partner was smiling from ear to ear. “Would you mind coming down to the meeting room?”

  Nash’s pulse accelerated wildly. The executive committee had been meeting with the other senior partners that afternoon to make their recommendation for new senior partner.

  “I got the position?” Nash asked hesitantly.

  “I think that would be a fair assessment,” the older man said, slapping Nash on the shoulder. “It wasn’t a hard decision, Nash. You’re a fine attorney and an asset to this firm.”

  * * *

  A half hour later, Nash rushed out of the office and drove directly to Savannah’s shop. As luck would have it, she was busy with a customer. He tried to be patient, tried to pretend he was some stranger who’d casually strolled in.

  Savannah looked at him with wide, questioning eyes and he delighted in unnerving her by blowing her a kiss.

  “When did you say the wedding was?” she asked the smartly dressed businesswoman who was leafing through a book of invitations.

  “In December.”

  “You have plenty of time, but it’s a good idea to set your budget now. I’ll be happy to assist you in any way I can.”

  “I appreciate that,” Nash heard the woman say.

  He wandered over to her desk and sorted through her mail. Without being obvious, Savannah walked over to where he was sitting, took the envelopes from him and gently slapped his hands. “Behave yourself,” she said under her breath.

  “I have a few extra expenses coming up,” he said in a low whisper. “I hope you’re doing well. I might need a loan.”

  “What expenses?” she asked in the same low voice.

  “New business cards, stationery and the like.”

  “New stationery?” she repeated more loudly.

  The customer turned around. “I’m sorry,” Savannah said apologetically. “I was commenting on something my husband said.”

  The woman smiled graciously. “I thought you two must be married. I saw the way you looked at each other when he walked in the door.”

  Neither Nash nor Savannah responded.

  Savannah started to walk away when Nash caught her hand. It was the first time he’d purposely touched her since the morning after their wedding. Apparently it caught her by surprise, because she turned abruptly, her gaze seeking out his.

  “I’m the new senior partner.”

  Savannah’s eyes lit up with undisguised delight. “Nash, oh, Nash.” She covered her mouth with both hands and blinked back tears. “Congratulations.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll come back another time with my fiancé,” Savannah’s customer said.

  “I’m sorry,” Savannah said, limping toward the woman.

  “Don’t apologize. Celebrate with your husband. You both deserve it.” When she reached the front door, she turned the sign to “Closed,” winked at Nash and walked out of the store.

  “When did you find out?” Savannah asked, rubbing her index finger beneath her eye.

  “About half an hour ago. I thought we’d go out to dinner and celebrate.”

  “I...don’t know what to say. I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m happy, too.” It was difficult not to take her in his arms. He stood and walked away from her rather than break his self-imposed restriction.

  “Where are you going?” Savannah asked, sounding perplexed.

  “I need to keep my distance from you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to hold you so much, my arms ache.”

  Savannah broke into a smile. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, opening her arms to him.

  Twelve

  Nash checked his watch for the time, set aside the paper and hurried into the kitchen. It was his night to cook and he’d experimented with a new recipe. If anyone had told him he’d be hanging around a kitchen, fretting over elaborate recipes, he would’ve stoutly denied such a thing could even happen.

  Marriage had done this to him, and to his surprise Nash wasn’t complaining. He enjoyed their arrangement, especially now that they were on much friendlier terms. The tension had lessened considerably following the evening they’d celebrated his appointment as senior partner. It felt as if the barriers were gradually being lowered.

  He was bent over the oven door when he hea
rd Savannah come into the house. She’d called him at the office to let him know she’d be late, which had become almost a nightly occurrence.

  “I’m home,” she said, entering the kitchen. She looked pale and worn-out. He’d never have guessed September would be such a busy month for weddings. Savannah had overbooked herself and spread her time and energy much too thin. He’d resisted the urge to lecture her, although it’d been difficult.

  “Your timing couldn’t be better,” he said, taking the sausage, cabbage and cheese casserole out of the oven and setting it on the counter. The scent of spicy meat filled the kitchen.

  “That smells delicious,” Savannah said, and Nash beamed proudly. He’d discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he enjoyed cooking. Over the years he’d learned a culinary trick or two, creating a small repertoire of dinners. Nothing, however, that required an actual recipe. Now he found himself reading cookbooks on a regular basis.

  “I’ve got the table set if you’re ready to eat,” he told her.

  “You must’ve known I was starving.”

  “Did you skip lunch again today?” he asked, using oven mitts to carry the glass casserole dish to the table. Once again he had to stop himself from chastising her. Their peace was too fragile to test. “Sit down and I’ll bring you a plate.”

  It looked as if Savannah was in danger of falling asleep as he joined her at the table.

  “Nash,” she said after the first taste, “this is wonderful!”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Keep this up and you can do all the cooking,” she teased, smiling over at him.

  Nash set his fork aside and folded his hands. He couldn’t keep silent any longer. “You’re working too hard.”

  She lowered her gaze and nodded. “I know. I scheduled the majority of these weddings soon after our own. I... I thought it would be a good idea if I spent as much time at the shop as possible.”

  In other words, less time with him. “I hope you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I have.” Her hand closed around her water glass. “I assumed our...arrangement would be awkward, but it hasn’t been, not since the beginning.”

  “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.” It frustrated him, living as they did, like polite strangers, but that, too, had changed in the past couple of weeks. Their relationship had become that of good friends. Their progress was slow but steady, which gave Nash hope that eventually Savannah would be comfortable enough with him to make love. He realized his attitude was shortsighted. Breaching that barrier had been a challenge from the first, but he hadn’t thought beyond it. He didn’t want to think about it now.

  When they finished eating, Savannah carried their plates to the sink. They had an agreement about cleanup, one of many. When one of them did the cooking, the other washed the dishes.

  “Sit down,” Nash ordered, “before you collapse.”

  “This will only take a couple of minutes,” she insisted, opening the dishwasher.

  Nash took her by the hands and led her into the living room. Pushing her down on the sofa, he said, “I want you to relax.”

  “If I do that, I’ll fall asleep, and I need to go back to the shop later to finish up a few things.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Savannah.” Those were fighting words, but he counted on her being too tired to argue with him. “You’re exhausted. I’m your husband, and I may not be a very good one, but I refuse to allow you to work yourself this hard.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the sofa cushion. She gave him a small smile. “You are a good husband, Nash. Thoughtful and considerate.”

  “Right.” He hoped she wasn’t expecting an argument. As it was, he should be awarded some kind of medal.

  He reached for her legs and placed them on his lap. “Just relax,” he urged again when she opened her eyes, silently questioning him. He removed her shoes and massaged her tired feet. She sighed with pleasure and wiggled her toes.

  “I haven’t been to my place in a week,” she said, and Nash found that an odd comment until he thought about it. She was admitting how comfortable she’d gotten living with him. It was a sign, a small one, that she was willing to advance their relationship. Nash didn’t intend to waste it.

  “I’ve moved nearly all my clothes here,” she continued in sleepy tones.

  “That’s very good, don’t you think?” he asked, not expecting her to reply.

  “Hmm.”

  He continued to rub her feet and ankles, marveling at the delicate bone structure. He let his hands venture upward over her calves. She sighed and nestled farther down in the sofa. Gaining confidence, Nash risked going higher, where her skin was silky warm and smooth. He wasn’t sure how this was affecting Savannah, but it was having a strong effect on him. His breathing went shallow and his heart started to thunder in his ears. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t ask her to make love again. She’d have to come to him. He wanted her to beg—but if anyone was going to do any begging, it was him.

  “It’s very relaxing,” Savannah murmured with a sigh.

  Funny, it wasn’t relaxing for him....

  “Nash.” His name was released on a harshly indrawn breath.

  His hands froze. His heart went still and his breath caught. “Yes?” He struggled to sound expressionless, although that was nearly impossible. The less she recognized how critical his need was for her, the better.

  “I think I should stop, don’t you?” Where he dredged up the strength to suggest that was beyond him.

  “It feels good.”

  “That’s the problem. It feels so good.”

  “For you, too?”

  Sometimes he forgot what an innocent she was. “For me, too.”

  Her head was propped against the back of the sofa, her eyes closed. Her mouth was slightly parted and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Nash groaned inwardly and forced himself to look away.

  “Maybe we should kiss,” she whispered.

  Nash wasn’t interested in a repeat performance of what had taken place earlier, but at the same time he wasn’t about to turn down her offer. She wasn’t begging, but this was close enough.

  He shifted his weight and brought her into his arms.

  Perspiration broke out on his forehead and he held his breath while he reined in his desire. “If we start kissing, we might not be able to stop.”

  “I know.”

  “You know that?” Something was wrong with him. He should be carrying her into the bedroom and not asking questions until afterward. A long time afterward.

  “We can follow through with our agreement, can’t we?” she asked. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “What agreement?” His mind could only hold one thing at the moment, and that was his painful physical need for her.

  “We’ll separate once my parents decide to travel,” she said, and it sounded more like a reassurance. “In the meantime, I’m not going to be trapped in a loveless marriage. As per the contract, we can initiate divorce proceedings when the year’s up.”

  “Fine,” he said, willing to agree to any terms. “Whatever you want.”

  “Do you think it would be a mistake to make love?” she asked.

  “No.” He sounded as if he’d choked on something. “That seems like a good idea to me,” he said a couple of seconds later. He got off the sofa, reached down and scooped her into his arms.

  She gave a small cry of surprise when he lifted her up and marched down the darkened hallway. He walked into his bedroom and placed her on his bed.

  He was afraid of going too fast—and of not going fast enough. Afraid of not lasting long enough, of cheating her out of what lovemaking should be for her first time. His fears managed to make him feel indecisive.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, staring up at him, her eyes wide and qu
estioning.

  Unable to answer, he shook his head.

  She smiled then, softly, femininely, and stretched her arms up, bringing him down next to her. He noticed that her breathing was as quick and shallow as his own. Carefully he peeled open the front of her shirt and eased it from her shoulders. Her bra and everything else soon followed....

  * * *

  They fell asleep afterward, their arms and legs intertwined, their bodies joined in the most elemental of ways. Nash had never known such peace, never experienced such serenity, and it lulled him into a deep sleep.

  It was after midnight when he woke. The lights were still on in the living room and the kitchen. Carefully, so as not to wake Savannah, he crawled out of the bed and reached for his robe. Shuffling barefoot out of the bedroom, he yawned.

  He felt good. Like he could run a marathon or swim a mile in world-record time. He finished the dinner dishes and was turning off the kitchen light when he looked up and saw Savannah standing inside the living room. Her hair was tousled, yet he’d never seen her look more beautiful. She’d donned her blouse, which covered precious little of her body.

  “I woke up and you were gone,” she said in a small voice.

  “I was coming back to bed.”

  “Good.” She led him back, not that he required any coaxing. The room was dark, but streaks of moonlight floated against the wall as they made their way to the bed.

  Nash held back the covers and Savannah climbed in. He followed, gathering her in his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder.

  He waited for her to speak, wondering what she was thinking, afraid to ask. With utter contentment he kissed her hair. She squirmed against him, nestling in as close as possible, and breathed out a long, womanly sigh.

  Although he was an experienced lover, Nash had never heard a woman sigh the way Savannah did just then. It seemed to come from deep inside her, speaking of pleasure and the surprise of mutual satisfaction.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said. “Thank you.” And then she snuggled up to him again, as if she needed this closeness as much as he did. As if she craved these peaceful moments, too.