by Gina Wilkins
Savannah could almost feel the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep from telling Lucy to go jump into the nearest lake.
Ernestine spoke up quickly, giving Savannah a cautioning look. “We watch Michael very closely, Lucy. He’s a good boy. Hasn’t given us any trouble.”
Lucy glanced sideways at Savannah and nodded. “I’m sure you’re both proud of him. He and his sister are certainly nice-looking children. They look very much like you, Savannah. Except for the shape of their eyes. They must have gotten those round eyes from their father.”
There was just a hint of a question in the statement Lucy had been trying to find out who had fathered Savannah’s twins ever since Ernestine and Savannah had moved to town. Since Campbellville was over two hours’ drive from Honoria, no one here knew about Savannah’s humiliation with the captain of the football team, and she intended to keep it that way.
Her twins had been told that their biological father had been Savannah’s high-school boyfriend, that the relationship had ended with the pregnancy, and that their father had no interest in seeing them at this point—his loss, Savannah had always assured them fervently. She’d encouraged them to come to her if they had any questions, but warned them to keep their family business private. If their friends asked questions, she’d said, all they had to do was answer that their parents had separated before they were born and that they’d never known their father. And then change the subject.
Savannah followed the latter part of her own advice now. “How is Gareth, Lucy? I’ve heard that he is recovering remarkably well from his surgery last month.”
The distraction worked, this time. Lucy immediately launched into a slice-by-slice description of her younger son’s recent hernia operation.
One touchy subject successfully avoided, Savannah thought in relief. But she knew there would be others, particularly when she saw Lucy’s best friend, Marie Butler, looking her way. Catching Savannah’s eye, Marie sniffed and put her brightly dyed red head close to the woman beside her.
Marie was still annoyed with Savannah for rejecting her son, Eric, who’d pursued Savannah publicly and determinedly for over a year before finally conceding defeat. Eric was a nice enough guy, but Savannah simply hadn’t been inclined to date him. He wasn’t that fond of children, for one thing, and her kids hadn’t particularly liked him. And her kids were her main priority.
It wasn’t that Marie had been delighted with Savannah as a potential dàughter-in-law. But it bothered her greatly that everyone in town knew Savannah had been the uninterested one, rather than Marie’s precious Eric.
Savannah sent Marie a sweet smile and turned back to Mrs. Bettencourt.
It was going to be a long evening.
Longer than she realized.
TO SAVANNAH’S RELIEF, the party was just beginning to show signs of breaking up when Miranda came home. With a wince, Savannah noted immediately that Miranda had been into the makeup again. Her daughter was painted up like a super-model-in-training, she thought with a shake of her head.
Savannah was quite sure that the members of Ernestine’s club would later whisper about what a terrible mother Savannah was.
With admirable patience, Miranda submitted to being examined and teasingly interrogated by her grandmother’s friends, though she gave her mother a-look that begged for rescue. Savannah indulged the ladies for a moment, then slipped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and directed a smile at the room in general.
“If you ladies will excuse us, it’s getting late. I’m going up with Miranda so she can tell me about her evening while she gets ready for bed. Good night.”
A chorus of good-nights answered her. It was with a sense of relief that both Savannah and Miranda made their escape.
Miranda started chattering about the movie she’d seen almost before she and her mother left the living room. “It was so cool! The best ‘Code’ film yet.”
“Cold film?” Savannah repeated quizzically, still thinking of a way to broach the subject of Miranda’s overuse of cosmetics.
Miranda sighed gustily and turned to her mother.
“Code,” she said clearly. “Come on, Mom, you know what I’m talking about. It’s the third film based on Christopher Pace’s ‘Code’ books. Remember? Code of Dishonor? Code of Silence? Code of Steel? I told you that was what Jessica and I were seeing tonight.”
Savannah nodded in apology. “Yes, I know you did. I remember now.”
The film was rated PG-13, which had given Savannah a bit of concern until Miranda had pointed out that she was, in fact, thirteen. Besides, Miranda had reminded Savannah, Michael had already seen the film. And both of them had seen the previous two releases on video at a friend’s house and they really weren’t that bad. Just a little violent, she’d said earnestly. Maybe a little bad language. But nothing she hadn’t already heard in school.
After being assured by Jessica’s parents that the movie wasn’t any worse than the usual cops-and-bad guys film, and was actually much better written than most, Savannah had agreed to the outing.
“So you enjoyed the movie?” she asked, trying to pay more attention to her daughter as they headed up the stairs.
“It was great! Christopher Pace is, like, the best writer ever. His movies are funny and exciting and really cool. He’s been on a whole bunch of TV shows lately—you know, promoting the film? And he’s really good-looking. Jessica thinks he ought to star in his own films. She says he’s even better than Chris O’Donnell. I think he’s cute, and funny—he made Oprah laugh so hard her eyes watered—but he’s sort of old. About your age, maybe.”
“Thank you very much,” Savannah said dryly.
Miranda giggled. “Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean you’re old, of course.”
“No, of course not.”
“So, anyway…”
They had just reached the top of the stairs when the doorbell rang, interrupting Miranda’s prattle.
Savannah looked behind her and sighed. “I’d better see who that is. I’ll be right back.”
She was aware that Miranda remained where she was, watching as Savannah hurried back down the stairs.
“Who is that?” Ernestine asked, standing in the living-room doorway.
“I don’t know, yet, Mother,” Savannah replied with forced patience. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“Not this late.”
Savannah thought immediately of Michael, and fervently hoped that nothing had gone wrong with the backyard camp-out. She opened the door quickly.
The yellow porch light illuminated a face that had featured prominently in Savannah’s fantasies for almost two weeks. For one stunned moment, she wondered if she was dreaming again.
“Kit?” Her voice came out in a whisper, hardly audible even to her own ears.
His dark eyes swept her face, and his expression was somehow both smug and uncertain, all at the same time.
“You forgot to say goodbye,” he said in the deep, whisky-smooth voice that had murmured to her in her dreams.
Savannah couldn’t quite believe that she wasn’t imagining him—she’d missed him so very desperately. Without thinking, she reached out to touch his cheek.
He felt very real. Warm and solid, exactly the way she remembered him.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she murmured. She was unable to hide her pleasure at seeing him, and for one long, shimmering moment, everything else was forgotten.
His eyes locked with hers, Kit caught her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I missed you,” he said with devastating simplicity.
“Savannah?” Ernestine spoke impatiently from behind her. “Who is it?”
Savannah gasped and pulled her hand from Kit’s, abruptly brought back to reality.
Kit was here! This man she’d met so briefly on vacation, this man whose last name she didn’t even know, this man who was little more than a total stranger to her—with the exception of a few spectacular shared memories—had
somehow followed her home. And now what in the world was she going to do with him?
Why was it that every time Savannah did something reckless and daring, it always came back to haunt her?
Kit looked at her apologetically. “I’ve obviously come at a bad time. You’re entertaining.”
“My mother’s friends,” she replied automatically. “They were just leaving. I can’t believe you’re here.”
His expression turned rueful. “So you said.”
Savannah realized that he was still standing on the front porch, that she was half in, half out the door, and that her mother and her daughter were hovering somewhere behind her, waiting to find out who had called at this hour. She hesitated for just a moment before inviting him in. She had the unsettling feeling that, once Kit stepped into her house, her life would never be the same.
SAVANNAH WASN’T exactly throwing herself into his arms in welcome.
Kit wanted to believe that it had been pleasure that had lit her face when she’d first recognized him standing at her door. When she’d reached out to touch him, he’d been sure that she was as glad to see him as he was to see her again. And then someone had spoken to her, and the fear he’d seen in her eyes that last night on the island had returned.
Why was Savannah so afraid of what she felt for him? And had he been wrong to follow his instincts and track her down?
She seemed to hesitate forever before finally stepping away from the door. “Please,” she said, her tone a bit too stilted, a bit too polite. “Come in.”
What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her with all the hunger that had been building up during the two weeks they’d been apart. He’d tried to convince himself during that time that seeing her again would ease the urgency. Maybe, he’d told himself, he wouldn’t even find her as attractive once they were away from the island.
He’d been wrong. He wanted her now as badly as he had that last night, when he’d reluctantly left her at her cottage door. And it was all he could do to keep from reaching out for her.
He held his hands firmly at his sides as he stepped past her into the modest frame house.
An older woman with suspicious blue eyes and hair-spray-stiffened frosted curls stood behind Savannah. Studying Kit curiously, a young teenage girl was descending the steps, a blond ponytail bouncing behind her, a bit too much color artificially added to her pretty face. The resemblance between Savannah and these two made Kit suspect a family connection.
Savannah confirmed his guess. “Mother,” she said. “This is my friend, Kit. Er…”
She glanced quickly at him, silently reminding him that he hadn’t yet told her his last name. And it struck him anew what a novelty it was to meet a beautiful woman who wasn’t drawn to his fame or fortune.
“Kit Pace,” he interjected smoothly, turning his most charming smile toward Savannah’s mother.
She wasn’t visibly enthralled. “Ernestine McBride,” she said with a slight nod. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No,” he admitted. “This is my first time in your area.”
Kit noticed that several other middle-aged women had gathered close to the open archway leading into the living room, eyeing him with surreptitious curiosity. All of them looked as though they’d never seen a stranger before, he thought in discomfort. Didn’t anyone in this little burg ever have visitors?
He really should have called, he thought belatedly. Savannah was obviously stunned by his appearance, and her mother didn’t seem particularly pleased that her party had been interrupted. Kit couldn’t help thinking of his own mother’s frequent warnings that his habitual impulsiveness was going to get him in trouble someday.
The teenager Kit had noticed on the stairs suddenly gasped loudly, causing them all to look her way.
Kit found her standing very close to him, staring at him with wide, shocked blue eyes. She looked very much like Savannah, he mused. A much younger sister, perhaps? He supposed Ernestine McBride could have had a late-in-life baby.
“Oh, my g-gosh!” the girl stammered, her voice squeaking. “Do you know who you are?”
Since it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that odd question by someone who recognized him, Kit merely nodded and murmured, “Why, yes, I do.”
And I really should have told Savannah before now, he thought when Savannah turned to the girl in startled question.
“What are you talking about, Miranda?” she asked.
“Oh, come on, Mom, you have to know who he is,” Miranda breathed, almost vibrating with excitement. “He’s Christopher Pace!”
Mom?
Kit stared at Savannah, wondering if he’d misunderstood, but somehow knowing that he hadn’t. This was Savannah’s daughter. And, oh, hell, he hoped she didn’t have a husband lurking in some other room of the house!
Savannah was staring back at Kit with an answering shock in her eyes. While she might not have recognized his face, she apparently knew his. name—and was utterly flabbergasted by learning the truth of his identity.
Ernestine—the girl’s grandmother, Kit now realized—looked from Savannah to Miranda with a frown. “Who did you say?” she asked Miranda.
“He’s Christopher Pace. The novelist and Hollywood screenwriter. The guy who wrote all the ‘Code’ books and the three ‘Code’ movies. Oh, man, I can’t believe this! I just got home from seeing your latest movie. It was the best yet,” the girl told Kit with awestruck enthusiasm.
By now, everyone in the living room had gathered in the doorway to stare at Kit. And he was wishing a very large hole would open in the floor and swallow him up.
He felt Savannah’s gaze riveted to his face as he forced a smile for her daughter. Her daughter. Oh, hell.
“Thank you,” he said.
He heard the buzz of excited whispers begin just as the doorbell chimed.
Since everyone else seemed to be too busy gawking at him to pay attention to the buzzer, Kit was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to get the door. Savannah finally moved, taking care not to brush against Kit as she passed him. Kit turned his head to watch her, sending her yet another silent message of apology that she couldn’t seem to hear.
She opened the door to reveal a uniformed police officer standing on the doorstep, a sullen-looking teenage boy at his side.
“Sorry to bother you, Miz McBride, but we need to have a little talk,” the officer drawled.
Savannah looked immediately at the boy—who, Kit couldn’t help noticing with a sinking feeling, looked enough like Miranda to be her twin brother.
“Oh, Michael,” Savannah groaned. “What have you done?”
Kit had thought to surprise Savannah by showing up unannounced on her doorstep.
He’d had no idea how many surprises had been in store for him.
SAVANNAH WAS AFRAID to even wonder what else could happen to her that evening. She was still trying to deal with her shock at finding Kit—Christopher Pace!—on her doorstep. And now Michael had been officially escorted home from what was supposed to have been an innocent backyard camp-out.
The ladies of the gossip club were going to have a field day tomorrow, she thought, painfully aware of the many curious eyes watching her.
She could only deal with one crisis at a time. She glanced pleadingly at her mother, who immediately ushered her guests back into the living room. To Savannah’s mingled relief and dismay, Kit and Miranda followed the others, leaving Savannah alone with her son and Officer Henshaw.
“What happened?” she demanded.
Michael didn’t volunteer any information.
“Your boy was caught pushing over mailboxes on Bishop Road with a group of other kids,” the officer said. “We’ve explained to him that vandalism is a serious offense, and that he could also be charged with trespassing, criminal mischief and interfering with the mail. Which, of course, is a federal offense;” he added in a stern voice for the boy’s benefit.
“Bishop Road?” Savannah frown
ed at her son. “That’s on the other side of town. What in the world were you doing there when you knew you weren’t supposed to leave Nick Whitley’s yard?”
Michael shrugged. “All the guys were doing it. What was I supposed to do, sit in the backyard by myself?”
“You should have called me to come get you,” Savannah informed him sharply.
Henshaw looked at Savannah. “I’ve already had a long talk with him about how much trouble he can get into by just going along with the crowd. He knows we could have taken the whole group of them down to the station and booked them. Chief Powell and I are giving them one more chance, but if they get into trouble again, they’re going to have to deal with a juvenilecourt judge.”
Savannah knew that Henshaw was doing his best to scare Michael straight. She hoped it worked, and she certainly intended to do her part to make sure nothing like this ever happened again.
“By the time he’s no longer grounded for this incident, he may no longer be a juvenile,” she muttered, her gaze locked with Michael’s.
Officer Henshaw fought a smile. “Sorry again that I had to interrupt your party, Miz McBride. Michael, you need to apologize to your mama and your grandmama for embarrassing them like this, you hear? And don’t make me have to haul you home like this again, boy.”
Michael shook his head. “No, sir.”
Savannah wished her son had sounded just a bit more penitent. She still couldn’t believe he’d done this. It was the first time he’d ever deliberately disobeyed her.
As soon as she had closed the door behind Officer Henshaw, Savannah turned to Michael, who was watching her warily.
“Go to your room,” she said in a low voice that brooked no argument “I’ll deal with you as soon as your grandmother’s guests have gone.”
“But all my stuff is still over at Nick’s.”
“And it will stay there until tomorrow,” she replied flatly. “Go to your room, Michael. Now.”
He turned on one sneaker and headed for the stairs.
