Tugging the loose hem of her beige polo shirt around her hips, Sarah-Jane crossed the shop, veering around the trio of four-sided shelving displays containing skeins of yarn in a rainbow of colors and weights that were situated along the center of the main store. She nudged one of the comfy arm chairs scattered around a work table back into place, and then stopped when she reached Maria. “Is everything okay?” She kept her voice low.
“Sí, sí.” Maria smiled quickly and patted her arm as she drew her into the small office, closing the door after them. There was one desk in the center of the room with chairs on either side and a computer on top that both sides shared. Maria didn’t take her usual seat, however, but leaned one jean-clad hip against the corner of the desk and waved to the closest chair. She waited until Sarah-Jane had sat down before she spoke. “I had an interesting call today from Marcos.”
Sarah-Jane studied the woman’s dear face. “About...Red,” she hazarded, wondering what would be so important that Maria would need the privacy of the office to discuss. More often than not, any business about the Mendoza family or their friends was discussed—at length—among the knitting-circle chairs. Sarah-Jane generally tried not to participate, but she was well aware the store was a hotbed of gossip.
“In a way.” Maria folded her arms. “Tell me, darling, how well do you know Wyatt Fortune?”
Sarah-Jane felt the blood drain out of her face. “Um...not well. Why?”
Maria smiled slightly. There was no anger on her face, just a sort of gentle amusement. “But you did go to San Antonio with him a few nights ago?”
Sarah-Jane shifted in the chair. That draining blood had returned with a vengeance and she could feel it climbing up her throat, spreading hotly into her cheeks. “Well, yes. I...I did.”
Maria spread her hands. “Ah. All is well, then.” She leaned over slightly, her dark eyes suddenly dancing. “That one is very handsome, is he not? All that dark blond hair and blue eyes. Some men might look too pretty. But not Wyatt. He is—” she broke off and waggled her hands as if that would explain it. “Very masculine, yes?”
Not sure where the conversation was going, but entirely certain that she was mortified, Sarah-Jane could only nod.
“Such broad shoulders and tall. A man like that puts his arms around you and a woman feels like a woman.”
Sarah-Jane squirmed in her chair. “Maria, I don’t—”
“He is looking for you, niña.”
For a moment, excitement blossomed inside her. But she still shook her head. “Marcos told you that?”
Maria nodded again. She sat back, crossing her arms again. She was smiling broadly. “Marcos tells me Wyatt went looking for you at the restaurant. Why do you make it so hard for him to find you? Don’t you like him?”
“Of course I like him,” Sarah-Jane exclaimed. “But—”
“Then why didn’t you tell him your real name?”
She flushed all over again, slumping back in the chair. “I’m sorry, Maria. I never wanted to cause you or the restaurant any embarrassment.”
Maria made a face. “Embarrassment? Why should I be embarrassed?” She waved her arms again as she always seemed to do. Maria rarely expressed herself without gesturing. “You think I sent you out among all those eligible men at that wedding reception because I was worried you would embarrass me?”
Sarah-Jane stared. “What do you mean, you sent me?” She’d long been familiar with her boss’s penchant for matchmaking. But she’d never once considered that the lively woman would turn her sights in that regard on Sarah-Jane. “You didn’t think to dangle me like fish bait, did you?”
“Fish bait smells,” Maria dismissed. “You are a rose, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt for some people to see that.”
Sarah-Jane covered her face. “I wore that dress...those shoes. Oh my God, Maria! I made an absolute fool of myself.”
“Bah.” Maria snorted. “You need a better mirror, niña. You looked exactly the way a lovely, shapely young woman should look.” She smiled then, abundantly pleased with herself. “And Wyatt Fortune obviously recognized that fact. But...what I don’t understand is this.” She leaned her head toward Sarah-Jane again. “Savannah?”
Of course Maria had to know that Wyatt wasn’t looking for Sarah-Jane, but Savannah. She covered her face again, groaning. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone out with him,” she mumbled.
“I’m thinking you shouldn’t have told him your name was Savannah,” Maria said dryly. “We would have figured out more quickly who he was searching for.” But then she leaned over and firmly tugged her hands away from her face. She stared into Sarah-Jane’s eyes with kindness. “Why did you tell him that?”
Sarah-Jane blinked hard as mortification tried to give way to inexplicable tears. “I...just wanted to be someone he’d be interested in. Someone other than plain Sarah-Jane.”
“The only one who sees you as plain is you.”
Sarah-Jane could have argued that particular point, but knew there was no reason. Maria, like Felicity, was too loyal and too good of a friend to say anything unkind. “What did Marcos tell him?”
“Nothing at all.” Maria crossed her arms again, but her fingers wiggled against the long sleeve of the burgundy-colored sweater that Sarah-Jane had knitted for her for Christmas. “Marcos couldn’t find any record of me having temporarily hired anyone named Savannah for the reception, so he finally phoned me. I called to speak with Wyatt myself. Just this morning, in fact.”
Sarah-Jane felt herself paling all over again. “And?”
“When he described the woman he was looking for—an auburn-haired beauty with liquid-brown eyes,” she said deliberately, “it all suddenly made sense.”
Sarah-Jane shivered. “He said that about me?” The words were practically a squeak, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
Maria smiled indulgently. “He might have added voluptuous in there, too, but I don’t want to embarrass you any more than necessary.”
Sarah-Jane tugged at the collar of her polo shirt, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering inside her stomach. “You told him then. That my name wasn’t Savannah.”
Maria waved her hands. “That, niña, you get to do yourself. I told him I would pass on his message.” She gave Sarah-Jane a decidedly stern look.
Sarah-Jane wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. It would have been so easy if Maria had taken the decision out of her hands—
But no. She sat up straighter in her chair. That would have been the coward’s way out. Sarah-Jane had spent most of her life hiding among the woodwork, but that didn’t mean she was entirely full of cowardice.
She owed it to Maria to be truthful with the man. He was a Fortune, and the Mendozas and the Fortune family were thick as thieves.
“I’ll call him at the hotel,” she said, only to realize she didn’t even know if he was still staying at La Casa Paloma. He’d been there two nights ago, but that meant nothing.
“Here.” Maria pulled a folded, pink message slip from her pocket and handed it to Sarah-Jane. “He left his cell phone number.”
Sarah-Jane unfolded the paper and stared at the number Maria had written.
“Now’s as good a time as any,” Maria said pointedly, gesturing at the phone that sat on top of the desk next to the computer monitor.
The fluttering inside her stomach dipped dangerously. “You want me to call him now?”
“No time like the present. There’s no deceit in you, darling. But I know that somehow, you’ll convince yourself that it’s better for you not to call. And you’d be wrong. He wants to hear from you, Sarah-Jane.”
“He wants to hear from Savannah,” she returned.
Maria leaned forward again and squeezed her chin as if she were seven instead of twenty-seven. “A rose is still a rose,” she said softly. “And you’ll never know if you don’t pick up that phone and dial.”
Sarah-Jane’s eyes started burning again. “You’re too good to me, Maria.”
The other woman smiled and patted her cheek. “It’s easy to be good to someone like you, niña.” Then she slid off the side of the desk and left the office, closing the door once more behind her.
Sarah-Jane stared after her for a moment. She was almost surprised that Maria hadn’t stayed just to ensure that she really did call Wyatt. But then, how could Sarah-Jane not?
Maria had probably recognized that, as well.
She exhaled deeply and flattened out the message slip on the desk.
Wyatt had looked for her.
She knew once he heard the truth, he’d still walk away. But he had looked for her, and she held that knowledge close for a moment, letting its sweetness warm through her.
Then she slowly reached for the phone and dialed the number, pretending that her hands weren’t shaking all the while.
He answered on the third ring. “Wyatt Fortune.” His voice was just as deep as she remembered, though his tone was brusque.
Her stomach clutched again. She tightened her grip on the old-fashioned telephone receiver.
“Hello?”
Afraid he’d hang up before she found the courage to get out a word, she swallowed hard past the knot in her throat. “Wyatt. It’s, um, it’s me.”
“Savannah.” The brusqueness disappeared. His voice dropped a notch, turning smooth as dark molasses. “Feels like I’ve been trying to find you forever.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Maria Mendoza just gave me your message.”
“I’m glad. God knows she wouldn’t give me your phone number.” He sounded more wry than put out. “Can’t blame her for being protective, I suppose. She obviously figured what everyone else figures. If you wanted me to be able to reach you, you’d have given me a way to do that.”
She opened her eyes again, staring blindly at the colorful skeins of yarn that skipped across the computer screen. Sarah-Jane had designed the screen saver herself. The Stocking Stitch provided the download free to anyone who wanted it, as well as a few other programs she’d created. “I didn’t think of it.” It was almost true. “I didn’t think it would matter.”
Through the phone, she could hear the low murmur of voices in the background. Wyatt’s voice dropped another notch. “It mattered. But I wasn’t thinking about you disappearing right out of my hands, either. You’ve led me on quite a chase, Savannah, and I want to see you again.”
Her shaking fingers twined around the coiling phone cord. She could tell him the truth over the phone, but that was almost as bad as not telling him the truth at all. “Are you still staying at the hotel?”
“Until I get some things ironed out, I’m still staying here.”
She assumed he was referring to the task of moving from Atlanta to Red Rock, though he’d been no more forthcoming about those plans during the evening they’d spent together than she had been about who she really was. “It’s nearly my lunch break.” She usually spent it outside at a nearby park. Alone, except for the birds that always flocked nearby, hoping for a crumb or tidbit. “I could come by and see you for a few minutes.”
He laughed softly. “A few minutes is better than nothing, but I was thinking more along the lines of something more...protracted.” He paused for a moment, but Sarah-Jane couldn’t get any response to that past the constriction in her throat. “Lunch is good, though,” he said, filling the small, strained silence. “The weather’s nice. Just come and find me by the pool. We’ll eat out there.”
Sarah-Jane was fairly certain if she tried to force food down, it would be to a disastrous result. She let out a strangled “okay,” cleared her throat and tried again, with only a mildly improved result.
If he noticed—and how could he not?—he was too polite to say. “So, I’ll expect you in what? Thirty minutes? An hour?” He gave a laugh that didn’t sound particularly amused. “I have no idea how far you’re coming from.”
You could pretty much drive to anywhere from anywhere in Red Rock in a matter of minutes. The distance between the shop and the resort hotel was hardly any different. “Thirty minutes,” she managed. If she waited any longer than that, she was afraid she’d chicken out.
“See you then.” He didn’t linger, waiting to see if she’d respond.
Already tired of the chase, no doubt. Who could blame him?
Certainly not Sarah-Jane.
* * *
Wyatt had never considered himself a particularly impatient man. He knew his family considered him stubborn, and that he supposed he couldn’t deny. But stubborn didn’t mean impatient.
Yet as he waited to spot Savannah passing through the only passageway available from the lobby to the lushly landscaped pool area where he sat at a round, stone-surfaced table shaded by an overhead umbrella, all he could feel was impatience.
And worry, an annoying voice whispered inside his head.
He ignored the voice and took a gulp from one of the iced teas he’d ordered for them both. Just because Savannah had sounded strained when she called didn’t mean there was cause to worry.
Then why wouldn’t she let you drive her home?
Again, he ignored the voice. Just because he’d been besieged by suspicions nearly every waking minute since the day his father made his stupefying announcement about selling off JMF didn’t mean he needed to be suspicious about Savannah, as well.
Maybe the boyfriend is more. A live-in lover.
He yanked out his cell phone and scrolled through the call log. The number Savannah had dialed from was the third one down and identified as “StockingSti.” It was better than nothing. No matter what, he now had a link back to her.
He glanced at the passageway from the lobby but there was still no sign of her.
Maybe more than a live-in lover. A husband. Just because she hadn’t worn a ring didn’t mean a thing.
He exhaled impatiently and looked back at his phone. In the twenty-five minutes since Savannah had called, he’d also received a call from his mother—he’d sent it straight to his voice mail and was still feeling guilty about it—and his little sister, Victoria, who’d called to arrange lunch the next day with him and his brothers.
So far, Vic hadn’t shared what she thought about them staying in Red Rock, but he figured if anyone would understand, it would be her. She was the youngest of them all, but she’d had her own battles with their father over the years until ultimately, about eight months earlier, she’d decided to make her stay in Red Rock a permanent one. Of course, that permanency had had a lot to do with the rancher she’d set her heart on marrying.
“Hi.”
He nearly dropped the phone right into his iced tea glass when she spoke. His gaze flew up to Savannah’s face and thoughts of his sister, his brothers and his parents slid neatly out of his head.
Her hair was pulled back in a straight, smooth ponytail that exposed the long line of her throat above the collar of her tan shirt. He noted the logo stitched over her heart—The Stocking Stitch—and tried not to dwell too much on the full curves valiantly filling out the baggy shirt. He shoved the phone back in the pocket of his jacket and pushed to his feet, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
Nothing more than a brush of his lips, but he was just as aware of the way she stiffened as he was aware of the soft, warm fragrance of her hair. “I’m glad you came.”
Her gaze wouldn’t meet his, while her fingers just nervously tugged the hem of her too-large shirt over the hips of her khaki-colored pants.
No reason to worry? Maybe the husband comes with a set of kids, too.
“Sit.” His voice was a little harsher than he intended and he saw the way she flinched a little. “Please,” he added more gently, and pushed out the chair next to his.
She sat and her ponytail slid over her shoulder as she leaned forward to scoot her chair in, sliding down over the curve under that logo and beyond.
He dragged his gaze up again. He’d always been a leg man. Long, lean legs usually attached to long, lean women. God knew there hadn’t been a thing wrong with Savanna
h’s beautifully curved legs in the dress she’d worn that night at the wedding reception, but he was finding the rest of the curves she possessed almost embarrassingly mesmerizing.
He was a twenty-nine-year-old-man, not a zit-faced boy who’d just discovered the wonders of women’s breasts.
And dammit, she’d noticed, too. He knew it not only by the pained look in her brown eyes, but the way she hunched her shoulders forward in the loose shirt as if she could hide that God-given blessing.
He thought about apologizing, but in truth, he wasn’t sorry for appreciating her beauty. And he suspected that bringing more attention to that fact would only embarrass her even more.
“So.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Let’s just get it out of the way, okay? What is it that you’re hiding, Savannah? A husband? Half a dozen kids? Just tell me what it is, and then we’ll deal with it.”
Chapter Five
Sarah-Jane’s jaw went loose. “What? I don’t have a husband!” She struggled to bring her voice down to its normal register. “I don’t even have a boyfriend. I told you that already!” Today, his eyes were lighter than the sky, she thought inanely, and they were boring a hole straight through her.
She snatched up the iced tea glass that was obviously meant for her and sucked down a third of it before setting it back on the round coaster bearing a line drawing of the resort.
“Then what are you hiding? If you weren’t interested in seeing me again, you could have just said so.” His lips tilted almost charmingly, except he didn’t look at all amused. “I wouldn’t have liked it, but I’m a grown man. I would have accepted it and left you alone.”
“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” she said faintly. There was nothing at all about him that didn’t shout “grown man,” from the strong column of his throat rising from the unbuttoned neck of his charcoal-colored shirt to the hewn angles of his jaw.
Her New Year's Fortune Page 7
