by Lori Wilde
Shifting into gear, she gave Hank one last smile before pulling the detachable muzzle on the helmet across her mouth and nose. Letting out the clutch, she gave the bike some throttle and rolled onto the highway. She raised a hand in farewell and kept the speedometer at a careful forty-seven miles per hour until Hank and his police truck were out of view.
Then she gave in to the itch and revved the engine, blasting down the empty road. Only the racing of her heartbeat could match the Ducati’s speed.
Chapter Two
From a half-mile away, Hank heard the Ducati’s engines growl, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Savannah hadn’t changed much from the fierce and wild girl he’d known. Still pushing her limits. Determined to have her way.
Hank walked back to his truck and climbed in. On the other hand, he hardly recognized the woman she’d become. Physically, leastwise. Gone was the coltish girl who was all legs and sharp elbows. He should have arrested her for her outfit alone. The way those pants and tank top clung to her lush body was criminal. He’d never been jealous of an inanimate object before, but he had to admit to a longing to switch places with her phone, if just for a moment. Seeing it nestled against her stomach, jutting out of her pants, he’d almost drooled.
The welcome sign to Serendipity came into view, and the knot of tension that always seemed to sit at the base of his skull eased, as it inevitably did at the sight. He’d been gone from Serendipity too long. Angry for even longer. It had taken him twelve years to come to grips with his childhood issues, to come to appreciate his small hometown. Unfortunately, it had taken his father’s death to make Hank see what an ass he’d been and bring him home.
He drove past the Bluebird Inn and saw it was a hive of activity. Wedding guests dressed in their Sunday best gossiped in clusters, no one seeming to want to get in his or her car and drive away from the excitement. Hank waved at the minister and turned at the next street.
Stomach rumbling, he pulled into a spot near Bubba Red’s, the barbeque place on the square. Stepping out of his truck, he stretched and enjoyed the mild temperature. Perfect weather for a wedding. Shaking his head, he strolled into the restaurant and found a seat in a booth along the far wall.
What on earth had Savannah been thinking? How could a woman leave the man that she loved standing at the altar? And if she didn’t love him, why had she agreed to marry him in the first place? Hank didn’t know Chance Worthington well, but he seemed a decent enough guy. And Hank had been told enough times by enough people in Serendipity that Worthington was the perfect man for their darling Savannah Loving. Wealthy, respected, with a good family name.
Hank’s stomach turned. Everything his family hadn’t been.
Marlene, one of the waitresses, walked up with a big smile and a pot of coffee. “Afternoon, Deputy. What can I get for you?”
“The tri-tip platter. Medium rare.” Hank flipped his mug over, and Marlene filled it with coffee.
She put the pot down and wrote his order on her pad. Cocking a hip on the table, she leaned close. “Did you hear the news? Savannah Loving up and left Chance standing at the altar. Some people are saying she must have started doing drugs while she was away at UT, that being the only thing that can explain her ditching such a fine man. Others think a business deal went bad between the fathers.” Marlene looked over her shoulder, then dipped her head. “Personally, I think there must be another man,” she whispered. “She’s a damn fool for listening to her hormones instead of using her head, but what can you say about girls these days. It’s all me, me, me.”
Hank blinked. He’d missed the easy familiarity of small-town life while he’d been living in Dallas, but he wasn’t used to how up in everyone’s business everyone was in Serendipity.
Marlene went on. “I can’t believe Serendipity has its very own runaway bride! And I heard poor Chance was so riled, he smashed the wedding cake.”
A group of customers, obviously having left the wedding that wasn’t, entered the restaurant, and Marlene hurried to greet them. Eager for the latest gossip.
On their heels was a familiar face. By the stained jeans he wore and wrinkled T-shirt, one who obviously hadn’t been at the town’s royal nuptials.
Seth dropped onto the bench seat across from Hank and took off his baseball cap. “Hey, bro. What’s up?”
“Not much. Helped old man Gunthrie repair his tractor, which was broken down on the side of the road. Gave a speeder a warning. Same ol’, same ol’.”
His baby brother snorted. “Only you could call the biggest social scandal in town history just another day. Haven’t you heard the news? The phone’s been ringing for the last half hour, and Momma’s been talking to everyone.”
“Yes, I’ve heard all about the Loving-Worthington split.” Hank shrugged. “What’s it to us?”
“Nothing.” A smirk crossed Seth’s face. “Except Savannah Loving is on the market again. I always regretted not getting my chance with her.”
Hank snorted. “You think just because she’s not marrying the doctor that you now have a shot with her?” He shook his head. “Her father would rather see his ranch burn than his baby girl with an Evans.”
“You’ve been gone for over ten years,” Seth said. “Serendipity has changed.”
“Not that much.” Never that much. Hank had learned to accept his father’s failings. That getting addicted to pain pills made it hard for a man to provide for his family. But he knew the town elders wouldn’t have looked on his dad with the same sympathy. Hank planned on building his future in Serendipity, becoming a respected member of the community, but Serendipity’s influence makers would never look on him as anything other than the hired help.
And that was all right with him. Hank only wanted the respect of those he cared about. The whole town royalty BS struck him as silly and outdated. He ran his thumb over the rim of his mug. He wondered how Savannah had managed to keep it together until today. By all accounts she was a proper young woman. A credit to Serendipity.
And she’d been panicked out of her mind when she thought he’d take her back home. She must have been suppressing her spirit for a while now.
No, the princess crown didn’t sit well on her head. Hank just couldn’t believe that it had taken a broken wedding for everyone else to see that.
She should be getting into Dallas about now. Taking refuge in his condo. The near-empty condo with bare cupboards and an unplugged refrigerator. He drummed his fingers on the table. Damn, how much cash did she have shoved down her bra? Would it be enough to get her a decent meal? A toothbrush and some toothpaste?
Crap. Hank’s heart sank. She’d be fine, he told himself. Savannah Loving was all grown up, and he was sure she could take care of herself. He was not going to worry about her sitting all alone and hungry at his place. Lying in his bed in those tight leggings and that clingy top. Nope, he wouldn’t think of her like that, either.
“Hello?” Seth waved a hand before his face. “Earth to Hank. You’re not having a PTSD episode, are you?”
Hank knocked his brother’s hand down. “Don’t make jokes about shit like that.”
Marlene bustled over, carrying two plates in her hands. She laid a plate heaped with smoked meat, corn on the cob, and macaroni salad in front of Hank and a pulled pork sandwich before Seth.
“Thanks, Marlene.” Seth shoved a fry in his mouth. “I didn’t even order yet.”
“I know what you like, sugar.” And with a wink, she was off.
Seth waggled his eyebrows. “She really knows what I like, if you know what I mean.”
Hank shook some salt and pepper on his corn. “When did my brother become such a jackass?” he asked no one in particular.
“Twelve years is a long time to be gone.” Seth shrugged, his cocky smile fading. “We’ve all changed.”
Truer words were never spoken. Hank sure as hell was a different man. Ten years in the Army would do that to a person. The two as a beat cop in Dallas had changed him even more.
Taking a big bite of his tri-tip, he pushed those thoughts away. That’s why he was back in Serendipity. Still in law enforcement, true, but breaking up drunken fights at the local bar and handing out speeding tickets was the extent of his workload. After years of living in a constant state of alert, he could finally relax. Maybe think about his future. A family.
Savannah’s sweet smile and endless legs drifted through his thoughts again. If that was how Serendipity grew its women, then Hank had definitely made the right decision to come back home.
He blocked his brother’s fork as it moved toward his macaroni salad. Smiled as Seth scowled.
Yep, there was definitely no place like home.
Chapter Three
“Shoot!” Savannah snatched the nail polish remover from where it had toppled onto the comforter and tried to brush away the acetone. It soaked into the cotton, and she hopped off the bed and hobbled for the bathroom and its one roll of toilet paper, trying not to ruin her new pedicure. She ran back on her heels and blotted as much liquid as she could.
It didn’t help. A circle of blue, a paler shade than the rest of the comforter, refused to disappear. Savannah didn’t know if it was from the damp or if the acetone had damaged the comforter. She rolled her head and sighed. That comforter was the only thing for her to sleep on. The bed was bare beneath it, stripped of any sheets. But there was nothing for it. Peeling it off the bed, she hurried to the bathroom and turned on the tub. She stuck the affected area beneath the stream of water, squirted some hand soap onto it, and tried to scrub away the stain.
She didn’t think Hank would appreciate it if she ruined the stager’s property. She could only hope it would dry in time for her to sleep.
Someone knocked on the door, and Savannah stopped by the narrow shelf that ran the length of the living room where she’d dumped her cash, cards, and phone. She picked up some money and opened the door. The delivery man held up a plastic bag full of cartons.
“Thanks. How much do I owe you?” she asked, the smells of Chinese food making her stomach rumble. The teenager told her, and she gave him a big tip, and pulled the bag in close. She’d been on a diet since the first day of her engagement. Strictly enforced by her mother and every waitress and store clerk in Serendipity. Sure, Savannah could have gone to the Piggly Wiggly and bought a bag of Snickers, but she would have received a raised eyebrow from the cashier, and a phone call from her mother five minutes later telling her to throw the candy away.
No more dieting. She said good-bye to the delivery man and shut the door with the ball of her foot, careful of her toenails. She was going to eat as much tonight as she could without getting sick and then do it all over again tomorrow.
She had just set everything down on the kitchen counter when the soft click of the front door opening hit her ear. She froze, and the visual of the sweet teenage delivery boy turned into a true crime story of a deviant youth. She must not have closed the door all the way, and now he was coming back to rob her because she hadn’t tipped him big enough. Or he’d seen she was a woman alone, and—
A floorboard creaked in the living room, and Savannah’s gaze darted around, looking for anything to use as a weapon. But the kitchen was empty except for her food . . . and the chopsticks that came in the bag. There would be something infinitely fitting about a Chinese food delivery man turned rapist skewered by the very tool he had delivered.
Another creak, closer. She didn’t have time to unwrap the chopsticks, just fisted the package. Movement in the corner of her eye, and her time to plan was over. Gripping the handles of the plastic bag, she swung with all her might. The sack smacked against the intruder’s face, a carton went flying, and the man swore and bent double, covering his face with his hands.
Something niggled in the back of her brain, but her body was in fight mode and ignored it. She kept swinging, bringing the bag down on the back of his head again and again, cartons popping out and flying around the kitchen. When she swung nothing but a torn and empty bag, that’s when she turned to the chopsticks in her left hand.
Luckily, her left arm wasn’t as strong, her swing not as assured. After the first stab of the sticks to his back, the man roared. That little niggle in her brain went to a full-blown warning alert system, blaring in her mind.
The man’s back looked a little too familiar. And the sound of his voice as he cursed sent a shiver of recognition sliding down her spine.
“Are you done?” he bit out. Slowly, he straightened, revealing a broad chest encased in a worn T-shirt, a thick column of a throat, and . . . yep, that was Hank Evans’s grim face glaring down at her. Her fingers loosened, and the plastic bag drifted to the floor.
He snatched the chopsticks from her still raised left hand. “What the hell are you doing? Trying to kill the one person who knows where you are?”
“You didn’t knock.” She licked her lips, refusing to feel guilty. “You should have knocked. I thought it was the delivery man coming back to . . .”
“Get his ass handed to him? Besides, this is my condo. I’ve never knocked entering my own place.” Hank blew out a breath and fisted his hands on his hips. “Woman, you are a menace to society.”
Her heart swelled. “That’s so sweet.”
Muttering to himself, Hank picked up a carton of sweet-and-sour pork. Half of the bright orange meat slid out and plopped on the floor. He swore again.
“Go sit on the sofa.” She prodded him from the kitchen. “I’ll clean up. It’s the least I can do after beating you up.”
“You didn’t beat me up. I only let you get your whacks in because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Of course you did.” She patted his chest, her body taking notice when she felt how firm his pecs were. Her mouth watered. “Now, go sit down, and you can tell me why you’re here while I clean up the evidence of your ass-whooping.”
He narrowed his eyes, the color of them darkening from a medium-aged whiskey to one that had been sitting in a barrel for twenty years. She’d never seen such beautiful eyes on a man, even when they were squinty with irritation, and she stared back, mesmerized.
He stepped forward, slipped in some sauce, and the connection broke.
Savannah sidled around him. “Don’t move. You’ll track sweet-and-sour into your living room.” She ran for the toilet paper, the only paper in the whole condo, and came back to kneel at his feet. “Okay, lift your foot, and I’ll wipe it off.”
He didn’t move, and Savannah looked up. The corners of his lips twitched, one dark eyebrow arched. She frowned, then realized just what thoughts her position must be putting in his mind. She flushed. “Just lift your foot,” she muttered.
He complied, and she wiped off the sauce. She scooted back, not meeting his eyes. “You can go sit down now. I’ll clean up the rest of this.”
With the small amount of toilet paper she had left, she wiped up the spilled chicken from one carton, the noodles from another, and put it all in the torn plastic bag as best she could. “I’m going to have to go shopping for cleaning supplies. And more toilet paper. You weren’t kidding when you said this place was empty.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you do have some money on you? That’s one worry gone.”
“Is that why you’re here?” She tied the bag up and set it on the counter. She ran her hands under the faucet and dried them on her pants. “You thought I was penniless?”
“I’m sure the princess of Serendipity has a trust fund a mile wide,” he said. “I just didn’t know if you’d be able to access it. Not without letting your father know where you were. And you’re just stubborn enough to starve.”
“Is that what you think of me?” She leaned back against the sink and grabbed the counter at her sides. “That I’m a bimbo living off of Daddy’s money?” A knot formed in her stomach, and she swallowed down a sick taste. That’s probably what everyone thought. That’s what Chance had thought. He’d never been mean about it, but he assumed her t
eaching career was just a hobby she’d give up once they’d married. Same princess, just moving into a different castle.
His mouth softened. “I didn’t say that. I just meant that I’m sure you’re comfortable. Your family wouldn’t let you go without.”
“I work,” she told him. Why she wanted this man to respect her, she didn’t know. But it suddenly felt urgent. “I’m a teacher at Serendipity Elementary. It’s a job I care about. I’m not just there killing time until I have kids of my own.”
He stepped forward. “Is that what people think? What your fiancé told you?”
She scratched her thumbnail over a line of grout. “Not Chance. My parents.” Chance hadn’t wanted children, but her mother had assured her that, after he and Savannah were married, Savannah would be able to change his mind. And instead of telling her mom that was a crappy way to start a marriage, Savannah had smiled and agreed with her mother, once again. “They always assumed that if I got a degree it would be in either education or an M.R.S.”
“Uh, you did go into education.”
She slapped her hand on the tile. “My parents were paying for college. It’s what they wanted.” She brushed past him and stalked into the living room. “Luckily for me, it turned out I enjoyed it.”
“That’s good, I guess.” He followed her out, rubbing the back of his neck.
“But it can be hard work. I might not be chasing down criminals, but keeping twenty first-graders safe, entertained, and educated isn’t for sissies.”
“I feel like we’re having an argument, but I don’t think we’re disagreeing about anything.” Resting his hand on her shoulder, he squeezed, the pressure warm and reassuring. “I think being a teacher is a fine job.”
She swallowed. “I’m twenty-five, and I’ve never supported myself. I have no student loans, my parents paid for my college; they’ve paid for my home, my car.” Hanging her head, she stared at her fire-engine-red toenails. “I am a trust-fund bimbo.”
