Her New Year's Fortune

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Pulling her thoughts together was almost more than Sarah-Jane could manage. Wyatt had asked her to stay.

  No.

  He’d asked Savannah to stay. Savannah, who’d flirted and danced and drank wine and fancy cocktails. Savannah, who probably did not live in an economical two-bedroom apartment furnished creatively in early attic.

  There was a cab parked outside the lobby. She could see the driver sitting inside. She knew she couldn’t drive her own car; she could hardly focus on Wyatt’s crooked smile without seeing double. It was either tell him where she lived, or take the cab.

  Or go up to his room with him.

  Was there really any question at all?

  “You don’t have to carry me,” she said instead.

  His smile widened slowly and heat filled her.

  Walking, however, turned out to be easier said than done. She no more climbed out of the car and inhaled a deep breath of cold air, than her head swam woozily and she started to pitch sideways.

  Wyatt caught her, sweeping her close.

  Sarah-Jane’s hands and purse was caught between them, but her heart raced anyway. Whatever fantasy she had about feeling his mouth on hers disappeared beneath the ominous lurching of her stomach. “Maybe I should just go home.” The last thing she wanted was for Wyatt to witness her getting sick. Not fantasy material at all.

  Savannah would hold her alcohol better.

  “Okay.” He reached around her for the car door once more, but she shook her head. “Savannah, you’re not going to drive.”

  “I know.” She swallowed hard and gingerly turned her head, looking toward the cab. It was still sitting there. “I’ll take the cab, there.”

  “Still being a woman of mystery, eh?” He snugged the wrap closer beneath her chin, nudging it up so he could look in her face. “Something you don’t want me to see at your place? A boyfriend who’s still around, after all?”

  “What? No. No, No!” She shook her head automatically, only to groan when the world swam around her. Felicity had been right. No alcohol. Never, ever again. “There’s no boyfriend. I promise you.” At least that was the honest truth.

  “Okay.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, letting the matter drop. “Cab it is.”

  She wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. But she did know that it shouldn’t matter, either way. She’d allowed Savannah one night. And that night was at an end. Particularly since Sarah-Jane was in danger of upchucking all over her alternate persona.

  “Just wait here.” He steadied her against the side of the car before crossing the parking lot in long strides to get the cabbie’s attention. Quickly, Wyatt had returned and the cab was pulling up next to her. He opened the rear door and held her arm while she tried not to make a bigger fool of herself by collapsing onto the seat. Then he crouched down beside her, tucking the wrap around her as if she were no more than a child.

  “I’m sorry I ruined the evening,” she said miserably.

  He smiled gently and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed over her cheek and for a moment, she forgot the dangerous churning in her stomach.

  “Honey, you haven’t ruined a single thing.” He leaned closer and she held her breath, certain that he was going to kiss her. But all he did was press his lips again to her forehead. Then he backed away. “I’ll call you,” he promised before he closed the door between them. He raised his hand, then turned toward the hotel.

  Sarah-Jane let out a sigh, watching him go.

  “Where to, miss?” The cab driver was looking at her in his rearview mirror.

  She closed her eyes and gave him her address.

  In seconds, they were driving away from the hotel. Away from Wyatt. Away from Savannah.

  Just like Cinderella, her night of fantasy had come to an end.

  Chapter Four

  “No, Mother, I haven’t forgotten about Dad’s birthday party next week.” Sarah-Jane sat at the kitchen table in her apartment, holding her cell phone gingerly to her ear. The light coming in from the window was bright and she had her head propped on her hand, her fingers shading her eyes.

  “Everybody who’s anybody is going to be here,” Yvette said, for about the tenth time. “So at least try to wear something suitable.”

  Sarah-Jane’s head pounded even harder.

  The cab ride home had been mercifully brief and when the driver had stopped outside her apartment and she’d fumbled in her borrowed purse for her wallet, he’d told her that the gentleman had already covered the fare.

  Gentleman. The word definitely described Wyatt. He’d been a gentleman from start to finish, right down to his promise to “call her.”

  “It’s an outdoor barbecue, isn’t it?” she asked her mother, now. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Why would I change my mind?” her mother asked sharply. “I’ve been planning this for the past six months! Honestly, Sarah-Jane. You always come up with the silliest notions. Yes, it’s outdoors. But it’s still going to be tasteful. I don’t want you showing up in some dreadful old jeans and baggy T-shirt.”

  Everything important to her mother had to be tasteful. “I’ll wear a dress,” she promised.

  She could practically hear her mother sniff. “Well, I’ll have something here for you just in case.”

  Sarah-Jane made a face. There was a reason why she was happy to have several hours’ distance between herself and her parents who still lived in the same Houston house where Sarah-Jane had grown up. “You don’t have to do that, Mom. I have a perfectly good dress.” She’d have to purchase it, yet, but Felicity would help. And her mother hadn’t seen her in months. She had no idea that Sarah-Jane had lost a few pounds. Not that it would matter. Since she’d been twelve years old and developed breasts, her mother had been trying to fit her into clothing at least three sizes too small. As if by doing so, she could pretend that Sarah-Jane was the perfectly petite person she, herself, had always wanted to be.

  “Barbara Curtis is coming. So are Tiffany and Adrianna.”

  “That’s nice.” Barbara Curtis had lived down the street from the Earlys since Sarah-Jane had been in high school. As far as Yvette was concerned, the woman—and her twin daughters, Tiffany and Adrianna—were the epitome of perfection. Sarah-Jane had no particular problem with any of them. Tiffany and Adrianna had been two years behind her in school. They’d never been unkind to Sarah-Jane back then, but they’d never run in the same circles, either. Tiffany and Adrianna had been wildly popular, for one thing. Outgoing. Beautiful.

  Sarah-Jane had been everything but.

  “They’re bringing dates,” Yvette added.

  Sarah-Jane pinched the bridge of her nose. Ah. Besides the dressing tastefully, the real crux of the matter. “That’s nice.”

  “Your father can set you up again with young Martin from the bank,” Yvette said.

  Young Martin was ten years older than Sarah-Jane and still lived with his mother. She’d gone out on one date with him. The last date she’d been on, in fact. That was three years earlier, to satisfy her parents while she’d been visiting them.

  He’d talked all night about himself and had kindly offered to help Sarah-Jane choose a “real” job that didn’t entail working in a knitting shop. When he’d tried to kiss her good-night, she’d turned her head and the sloppy kiss had hit her cheek instead. She’d felt like she’d been licked by a slobbering dog.

  She certainly hadn’t wished for a kiss from him the way she had wished for Wyatt’s.

  “I don’t need you to set me up,” she told her mother.

  “Lord knows you won’t come up with a date of your own. When’s the last time a man asked you out?”

  “Last night, as a matter of fact.” As soon as she admitted it, she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to endure a grilling about it from her mother. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come early and help you get ready for the party?”

  “The last thing I’ll need is more people under foot,” Yvett
e dismissed, the same way she had every other time Sarah-Jane had suggested that she might need help. At last count, her mother had invited fifty people to the birthday celebration. “Where’d you go? How’d you meet? What does he do?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom. I won’t be seeing him again.”

  “Oh, Sarah-Jane. If you’d just make an effort—”

  “Mom, sorry to cut you off.” She wasn’t. Not in the least. “But Felicity’s just coming in the door and her arms are full. I’ve gotta help.” That, at least was true.

  Felicity was shouldering her way through the kitchen door, a stack of flattened True Confections boxes in hand. “Your mom?” she mouthed.

  Sarah-Jane nodded.

  “Hey there, Mrs. E,” Felicity called out.

  “Tell your friend hello,” Yvette muttered. “Next week now. About one. And remember. Something—”

  “—tasteful,” Sarah-Jane finished. “I’ll remember. Bye, Mom. Love you.”

  The only answer she received was the dial tone.

  She hit the end button on her phone and set it down on the table, reaching over to take the top several boxes off of Felicity’s wavering tower. “Thought you were going to be at the shop all day.”

  Felicity tumbled the rest of the boxes onto the table and huffed a lock of blond hair out of her eyes. “I’ve done as much as I can there. Figured I’d put these boxes together at home.” Now that New Year’s Eve had passed, Felicity was working up to the frenzy of Valentine’s Day. “What wonderfully supportive, motherly things did Yvette have to say during this week’s Sunday call?”

  Sarah-Jane shrugged. “Same old, same old. I’ve got to buy a dress for my father’s party.”

  “Wear the dress Maria gave you for New Year’s Eve.”

  Thinking about New Year’s Eve only made Sarah-Jane think about Wyatt. “It’s an outdoor barbecue,” she reminded, determined not to dwell on it. She might as well have wished to jump over the moon. “Hardly the place for a little black dress.”

  Grinning, Felicity plopped down on the chair opposite Sarah-Jane and cleared an area on the Formica table to begin folding one of her pretty boxes together. “Your mom’s gonna die when she sees how much weight you’ve lost.”

  Sarah-Jane didn’t particularly want to think about that, either. No matter what she looked like, her mother wasn’t going to see her any differently than she ever had. Why would she? Sarah-Jane couldn’t see herself any differently, either.

  She reached for a box and started folding, too.

  “So,” Felicity said after they had each finished two boxes each. “Any call from Wyatt?”

  Sarah-Jane shook her head. “I told you I didn’t expect to hear from him.”

  “He said he’d call.”

  “Don’t they all say that?” Admittedly, she only had a few dates squeezed under her belt, but still. Plus there was the not insignificant detail that he hadn’t asked for her phone number again since that one time in the hotel lobby.

  Felicity grimaced, but didn’t disagree. “You could call him. Don’t you want to see him again?”

  Sarah-Jane’s hands paused. “Of course I do.” She looked at her friend. “Sarah-Jane wants to see him. The only person he knows is Savannah.” She shook her head. “I should never have lied. Never gone out with him. It was all wrong.”

  “Did it feel wrong when he was dancing with you on top of that bridge?” Felicity reached behind her and flicked the beautiful ivory wrap that was draped over the chair behind Sarah-Jane. “Or when he gave you that?”

  “It was a fantasy,” Sarah-Jane said. “A perfectly wonderful fantasy. But no matter what I wish, fantasies aren’t any more real than Savannah. He won’t call. He doesn’t know where I live. If he looks—which he won’t—” she added flatly when Felicity gave her a hopeful look “—he wouldn’t even be looking for me.”

  “I bet he will,” Felicity said with a certainty that made Sarah-Jane love her, even if she didn’t believe her. “You wait and see. Red Rock just isn’t that big and one day, Wyatt Fortune’s going to come a’calling one way or another.”

  A shiver skipped around inside Sarah-Jane’s tummy. She appreciated the cheerleading. She really did. But no matter what Felicity predicted, Sarah-Jane just couldn’t see it happening.

  She’d her fantasy date with Wyatt, but now she had her feet back where they belonged.

  Firmly planted in reality.

  * * *

  “Hi.” Wyatt stopped in front of the young blonde who was manning the hostess station at Red. It was the middle of the afternoon. After the lunch rush and before the dinner rush and the girl who looked no more than eighteen was standing at her post folding dinner napkins. “I’m looking for Savannah. Do you know when she’ll be on duty next?”

  “Savannah?” The hostess frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “She was working here a few nights ago. New Year’s Eve.”

  “Oh.” The girl’s expression cleared and the knot inside Wyatt’s stomach eased. “She must have been one of the temps that Mrs. Mendoza hired on for that night. The restaurant was closed, you see, except for a private party.”

  “Right. I was here.”

  She dimpled. “I can ask around if you want to wait. See if anyone knows how to reach her.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure.” She left the hostess station and disappeared into the dining area.

  Wyatt exhaled and squelched the desire to pace as he waited.

  He could kick himself for not getting Savannah’s number. Still couldn’t believe that he’d managed to let her slip out of his fingers so easily. He supposed he could understand her not wanting to give him her address. Although, considering she’d been set to come up to his hotel room, it seemed extraordinarily cautious. No matter how perfect they’d seemed to be together in San Antonio, he couldn’t forget that aura of inexperience that she’d never really let go of, despite the wine and cocktails.

  If he’d been thinking straight, he’d have gotten her phone number at least. Only every time he’d looked into her eyes, it was all he could do not to forget his own name.

  He exhaled again, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn, leather jacket.

  He hoped she hadn’t suffered too badly with a hangover. Hoped she didn’t regret going out with him at all, considering how the night had ended. He wanted to finish what they’d started.

  The hostess returned. She was shaking her head even before she stopped at her station. “I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t find anyone who knows Savannah. Are you sure you’ve got the name right?”

  He grimaced. “I’m sure.” He started to turn away. “Thanks for trying.”

  “I could check with my manager, Marcos, and ask him, if you want,” she offered. “He’s not on the schedule until tonight, but I could call him.”

  The teenager was thinking more clearly than he was. Of course, she meant Marcos Mendoza. And his cousin, Wendy, was married to him.

  “Not necessary. I can call him myself.”

  She smiled, probably too young to wonder why he hadn’t thought of doing so in the first place. The only explanation he could think of was that Savannah had him so bewitched, he’d lost his usual common sense.

  He left the restaurant and returned to his car, thumbing through the phone numbers stored on his phone. He found Wendy and dialed. She answered quickly and in the background, he could hear a child’s high-pitched giggles. She put Marcos on, but he was no more help than the girl at Red had been.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Marcos said, talking loudly over the giggling. “Maria made the arrangements for the extra staff we brought on. If we paid her, though, we’ll have the information in the office at the restaurant. I can look into it when I get there tonight.”

  Meaning Wyatt’s impatience would have to wait. “I’d appreciate it, Marcos.”

  “Sure. You say you went out with her, though? And she didn’t give you her number.”


  “I think your wife can vouch for my character, Marcos,” he said dryly. “I’m not intending to stalk Savannah. I just want to talk to her.”

  “All right.” The giggling got even louder and Wyatt imagined Marcos was holding his little daughter, MaryAnne, as well as the phone. “I’ll see what I come up with.”

  “Thanks.” He ended the call and the interior of his car seemed abundantly silent without those pealing giggles.

  He turned on the radio and drove out of the parking lot. Instead of heading back to the hotel—and his brothers, who hadn’t seen any reason to let him live down the fact that he had spent hours with Savannah without coming out of it with something as simple as a phone number—he drove slowly through the neighborhoods surrounding Red.

  He didn’t know what he expected.

  To see her walking around on the tree-lined streets? He knew she didn’t have a dog to walk. She’d said she had no pets. He didn’t even know what sort of car to look for, because he hadn’t seen what she’d driven to the hotel when she’d met him there.

  Finally, as empty-handed as he’d been since he’d tucked her inside the cab the night before, he returned to the hotel.

  Like it or not, he’d just have to wait.

  * * *

  “Sarah-Jane, do you have a moment?”

  Sarah-Jane looked across The Stocking Stitch. Her boss, Maria Mendoza, was standing in the doorway of the small office located in the rear of the store where, between the two of them, they kept track of the mountains of paperwork that went into operating the knitting shop. Maria was seventy now, but despite that, her shoulder-length black hair was only lightly streaked with gray and her curvy figure was still trim.

  The customary smile on Maria’s face that Sarah-Jane was used to was absent, though, and a whisper of unease crept through her. “Of course.”

  She nudged the knitting-pattern book she had open on top of a glass display case back toward the customer she’d been helping. “I’ll be right back,” she told her. The woman hadn’t been in the shop before, but if she developed a liking for knitting—or gossip—Sarah-Jane figured she, too, would turn into a repeat customer.