Her Savannah Surprise (The Savannah Sisters Book 3)

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  The truth was, he’d spent the past couple of months trying to figure out what he was going to do next. He might have bailed on his career, but life still went on. Or so he’d been told by doctors and specialists. And he knew his family would say the same thing—if he told them the real reason he’d come home. He almost wished he had to work. But he had more money in the bank than he could ever spend and no inclination to earn more doing something he had little interest in.

  “So, Dad’s resting...like I said.”

  Her voice again, dragging him back into the moment. Sean managed a slight shrug and tried to appear indifferent either way. “Sure... I’ll come back later.”

  She took a couple of steps forward. “You can wait for a while if you like. He usually only naps for an hour at a time. I’ve just made some hot chocolate.”

  Chocolate? Why not? It wasn’t as though he had anywhere else he needed to be. And it was getting cool. Colder temperatures were forecast for later in the week, but it was a typical fall day, with enough bite in the air to require a coat and good boots. Fortunately he had both. “Ah...sure.”

  She smiled and her green eyes darkened. “Be back in a minute,” she said as she moved up the stairs and disappeared into the house.

  Sean lingered by the steps, ignoring the dogs, which were winding around his legs in turn begging for attention. They got bored with his lack of response and plopped into their beds, situated at the end of the veranda.

  She returned a few minutes later, carrying a tray, maneuvering through the doorway with smooth dexterity. Her hair swayed as she walked, and he caught a glimpse of the colors hidden beneath the strands. It suited her, he thought. And something niggled at him, a kind of hazy awareness that made him shake his head. This was so ridiculous. He didn’t know her. They’d never met.

  “Here we go,” she said, her voice almost floating on the air between them. “Please, sit down.”

  Sean remained where he was, watching as she dropped a dollop of whipped cream into each mug. It both irked and amused him that she hadn’t asked how he liked his drink, just assumed he’d take it the way she was offering.

  He moved across the veranda and sat down, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the wicker love seat. She sat down opposite and passed him a mug. But she didn’t speak. Instead, she touched the rim of her mug with her thumb and wiped away some milky foam and then popped her thumb in her mouth. The action shouldn’t have registered as anything to him. But he experienced an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. The awareness was back, only this time it didn’t dissipate so easily. Sean looked at her, trying to find flaws as a way of dispelling the awareness. But it was difficult, if not impossible. Her emerald eyes especially—they were damned near perfect. And her lashes were the longest he’d ever seen; he could tell she wasn’t wearing a shred of mascara.

  “Dad said you were retired?”

  Sean stared at her mouth. “On hiatus,” he replied, ignoring the heat from the mug in his hand.

  “You work in the music business?”

  He shrugged. “I did.”

  “And movies, too?” she asked.

  Sean nodded. “That’s right.”

  Her head angled to the side a fraction. “And now you don’t do anything?”

  There was enough tone in her voice to sound like criticism, and he scowled. “I’m taking a break from the industry.”

  “You mean taking a break from life?” she asked bluntly, pulling no punches.

  Irritation wove up his spine, and he decided he didn’t like this woman one little bit. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I came back to Cedar River to spend time with my family.”

  Her brows rose dramatically. “Really? Dad said you spend most of your time alone. Unless you’re here letting him beat you at chess.”

  His irritability increased. “My parents got divorced. My dad remarried,” Sean said as an answer, and then almost jumped out of the chair the moment the words left his mouth, because he had no idea why he would say such a thing to a stranger. He certainly didn’t want her knowing anything about his personal life. Not that his parents’ divorce was a secret around town. But the reason they parted was still a sore issue for him.

  Jonah. His half brother. Barely three months younger than he was. The son his father had kept secret for nearly thirty years, the result of an affair he’d had before Sean was born. But it wasn’t a secret anymore. And now his parents were divorced and his father was married to Jonah’s mother, Kathleen. His family had imploded, and it felt as though he was the only one who gave a damn, since Liam, Kieran and Jonah had all gotten married over the past few years and were all busy with their new families.

  “I know your mom,” she said, dragging his attention back into the moment and smiled, exposing perfectly even teeth. “She’s been talking to me about showcasing some of my work at the art gallery in town. Your sister-in-law is the curator there, correct?”

  Was there anything about his family that she didn’t know?

  Sean’s mouth compressed into a tight line. Yes, Kayla was the gallery and museum curator and his eldest brother Liam’s wife. “That’s right.”

  “I’m also doing a piece for the foyer at the hotel, so I’ve met Liam several times.”

  Hmm. She was way too familiar with his family. Well, he knew some things about her, too. “You’re a sculptor?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I work mostly with metal. But I also paint a little, and do pottery.”

  “A triple threat.”

  She grinned. “Thank you. So, what’s with the mountain man look?” she asked, still smiling.

  Sean frowned and rubbed a hand over his jaw and the two-month-old beard growth, and then had the irritated thought that what the hell difference did it make, anyway, if he chose not to get a haircut or shave. “Are you the barber police?”

  “Are you always such an unbearable grouch?”

  Then she laughed. At him. He felt it through to his bones. And Sean wasn’t used to being laughed at. He placed the mug on the table and got to his feet. “I have to get going. Thanks for the chat and the cocoa.”

  “Anytime... Sean.”

  He ignored her, then walked across the veranda and headed down the steps, striding toward the hedge and away from the most annoying woman he’d ever met. One he hoped he’d never meet again, even if that meant not catching up with Ivan.

  Minutes later he wiped his boots on the mat on his porch. As he slammed the door to the house, a thought registered in his brain and he groaned. He’d been so eager to get away from her, he hadn’t mentioned anything about the damned dog!

  * * *

  It was a universally known fact that Leah Culhane-Petrovic had poor taste in men. The very worst taste, in fact, according to her brother, David, or any one of her cousins who lived in town. The last bad choice had swindled her out of a sizable chunk of her savings and stolen several pieces of her best work. The police hadn’t been much help trying to recover the art, and by the time they’d caught up with her ex, he’d lost most of her cash at the craps tables in Vegas. It was a valuable lesson learned. Trust no one. Particularly not uber good-looking men who oozed charm and sexiness and showed interest in a woman who was average looking at best and clearly didn’t know how to make good choices.

  Of course, Xavier hadn’t been the first jerk to cross her path. That was Gary Billings, art dealer to the stars, who turned out to be married Gary, and about the worst art dealer on the West Coast. He hadn’t managed to sell a single piece of her work after nearly eighteen months. True, he didn’t steal anything, but he did lie his ass off the entire time they were together.

  So, at twenty-seven, she’d sworn off all men and decided to look after the one who’d never let her down—her father, Ivan. And now that he was slowly returning to good health, she could begin to concentrate on her career again. In the past year, well before Ivan�
��s stroke, she’d sold several small pieces and had orders for two more, including one for the foyer of the O’Sullivan Hotel in the middle of town. The same hotel owned by Sean O’Sullivan’s family.

  Even with his shaggy hair and unshaven jaw, he was to-die-for sexy. He still had the same broad shoulders and loose-limbed frame. And he was still the same guy who’d ignored her completely the last time their paths had crossed. Admittedly, it had been eight years ago, but for her the memory was still there. She’d been back for the Christmas break from college in Denver, visiting her parents, and had brought along her roommate who’d been alone for the holidays because her family was in Europe on vacation. They’d made their way to the bar at the O’Sullivan Hotel for a few laughs and a pitcher of sangria, and he’d walked in with one of his brothers and a couple of friends. She’d heard he’d moved to Los Angeles a few years earlier, but returned a couple of times a year to visit his family.

  Back then she’d had a serious crush on him, naively ignoring his wild reputation with women. Not that he’d ever look in her direction. No, rumor had it that Sean O’Sullivan had a type. Tall and thin and blond. Like her friend Carissa—who ended up spending the weekend with him at the hotel. When he’d said hello to Leah at the bar, she had been flattered and hopeful, but quickly realized he was only interested in her tall, willowy friend. Of course, he hadn’t lasted with Carissa. He returned to California three days after that, and Carissa saw him in LA a few weeks later, before the relationship fizzled. She’d lost touch with her friend after college, and the last Leah knew, Carissa had married an investment banker and lived in Texas. It proved to Leah that Sean O’Sullivan was a womanizing jerk.

  The years seemed to have changed him, though—he didn’t appear to be the arrogant, commitment phobic playboy who had a different woman in his bed every weekend, because according to her father, he’d rarely ventured out in the evenings since he’d bought the house by the river. Not that Leah had listened to her father’s conversations about his new neighbor with a whole lot of interest. Her fleeting infatuation with Sean O’Sullivan had ended years ago. Still, it irked her that, first, he didn’t recognize her from the picture on the mantel, and second, that she was so forgettable, period.

  He’s still shallow and always will be.

  “Who is?”

  Leah turned from her task of preparing lunch, realizing she had said the words out loud. Her father came into the kitchen, his walking stick clicking on the linoleum, followed by the familiar sound of his shoe scuffing over the floor as his left leg dragged slightly behind him. Ivan Petrovic had a short, trimmed gray beard, glasses and a shiny bald head. Her mother, Sandra, had died five years earlier in a plane crash. Leah had a half brother, David McCall, who was an accountant and lived on his family’s small ranch outside of town with his fiancée and two kids. David’s first wife, Jayne, an accomplished pilot, had been flying the plane that had crashed, killing both herself and Leah and David’s mother on impact.

  Leah had grown up in Cedar River until she left for college when she was eighteen. After graduation, she’d made her home base in Aspen and had mostly been happy there, returning to South Dakota for the holidays. But her failed relationship with Xavier had reinforced her desire to move back home to be with closer to family, and for the last year she’d been working at a gallery in Rapid City and teaching an art class at a local technical college. However, when her father had a stroke over a month earlier, Leah knew it was time to come home for good. She wanted to help her dad with his recovery, and suggested she move in with him for a while. It took some convincing—Ivan was proud and independent and didn’t like admitting he needed help. But eventually he agreed, and when he offered her the chance to turn the old shed into a studio, she jumped at the opportunity.

  She pushed out a smile and shook her head. “No one, Dad,” she said, answering his question. “I’ve made lunch.”

  He gave her one of his lopsided smiles. “Did I hear voices earlier?”

  Her back stiffened. “Your neighbor stopped by.”

  “Ah... Sean. You didn’t invite him to stay for lunch?” he asked, motioning to the pile of sandwiches on the plate she now carried.

  Leah shrugged and placed the plate on the round oak table. “He didn’t seem inclined to hang around.”

  Ivan nodded and sighed. “He’s troubled, that boy.”

  “He’s hardly a boy, Dad,” she said and felt heat creep up her neck. She then silently called herself all kinds of stupid for letting Sean O’Sullivan garner any kind of reaction. “I mean...it’s none of our business.”

  “Gwen’s worried, I know that much.”

  Gwen O’Sullivan was Sean’s mother. Leah raised both brows. “I didn’t realize you were so well acquainted with the O’Sullivans.”

  She could have sworn her father’s cheeks tinged with a little color and she had the fleeting thought that maybe his acquaintance with Gwen was more than a simple acquaintance. She’d often asked her dad why he hadn’t dated since her mom died, and he’d always dismissed her questions with a wave and the insistence that he was happy alone—but she wasn’t sure she completely believed him.

  “We attend the same book club,” Ivan said and sat down. “She’s stopped by a few times since I got out of hospital. She’s a nice woman.”

  “I know,” Leah said and grinned cheekily. “And very attractive.”

  Her dad’s brows furrowed. “Don’t be reading anything into it.”

  “I think it’s great,” she said and offered another impish grin she hoped would make him smile. “About time you got a girlfriend.”

  Ivan’s cheeks were now beet red. “It’s nothing like that. We’re friends.”

  “That’s how it starts. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Not that I’m an expert in the romance department,” she said and sighed. “Not with my track record.”

  Her father took a sandwich from the plate and met her gaze. “There’s someone special out there for you, honey. Someone who will appreciate how talented and amazing you are.”

  Someone who likes creativity, color and a flat chest.

  “Men think I’m weird,” she said and laughed.

  “Well, maybe you are,” her father said and smiled broadly. “Nothing wrong with being a little different.”

  Different? She’d been called that before. And kooky and arty and sometimes just plain old nuts. Xavier had said so many times. True, sometimes she got lost in her work and would spend days in the studio, wrapped up in the creative process, unaware of anything other than the textures of the materials and the shapes that seemed to morph through her heart and hands into something that told a story in every line and edge and arc. She couldn’t explain it, and when the mood came, she didn’t possess the ability to do anything other than go where inspiration took her. So if that made her weird...well, she’d own it.

  “It’s a nice idea, but I’m not in the market for a relationship at the moment,” she said and took a bite of a sandwich. “I have to concentrate on you and getting two new pieces finished by the end of next month.”

  Ivan nodded. “I’m very proud of you, you know. Pursuing dreams can be hard sometimes. Your talent and commitment are really inspiring.”

  “You’ve always been my number one fan, Dad,” she said and laughed. “Well, you and David, and you both might be a little biased.”

  “Nonsense,” he scoffed. “And one day the rest of the world will know it, too.”

  “I’m not aiming for the world,” she said soberly. “Just the odd gallery or two.”

  “Perhaps it’s time you considered having a show again?”

  Leah shook her head. She’d had a show once...and it had been a disaster. Only a handful of people had attended, and not one piece had sold. It was a humiliation she wasn’t keen to repeat in a hurry. “Not yet. One piece at a time is all I’m ready for.”

  “Well, I know Gwen a
sked you to showcase a few pieces at the art gallery in town. That would be a good start.”

  “Yes,” she said and smiled warmly. “Maybe.”

  She was still thinking about her father’s words a couple of hours later. The shed would make a fine studio once she tidied the place up a bit. As she walked around the drafty building, she made plans for where everything would eventually go and which spots had the best light and shade. All of her equipment had arrived safely, and one side of the shed was stacked with materials and tools. There was a small room that she would turn into an office, and a loft for storage.

  Once she was done, she locked up and walked the perimeter, noticing a couple of places that needed the planking repaired. Her father had suggested a local carpenter who would be able to do the work, and she made a mental note to call him the next day.

  Leah called to her dogs, Betty and Wilma, and continued her walk around the building. The hedge behind it was thick and unkempt, and she spotted an area with an opening and a footpath, which led to the river and to the big log cabin that sat overlooking the water. Sean O’Sullivan’s house. They shared a driveway and a mailbox. The split-log western red cedar cabin had been empty for almost a year before he’d moved in a couple of months ago. Leah adored the cabin, and had always longed to buy the place herself because it had the most incredible stone fireplace in the main living room and a glorious view of the river from the wide porch and would be the perfect place to sketch. There was a small paddock and stable, a boat ramp and a boathouse she often thought would make a fine studio. But it wasn’t to be. Xavier had cleaned out her account, and it would take her five years—probably way more, given how slow her work was selling—to save for a deposit. And of course there was the annoying fact that O’Sullivan had snuck in like a rat up a drainpipe and stolen her dream house.