He’d exhaled as if he’d actually thought for a second she’d have felt otherwise, and covered her hand with his. “Then, tell me, Savannah. Why do I have the strong sense that you’re trying to avoid me?”
The sunlight was unrelenting. She could see faint tan lines weaving out from his brilliant eyes and the distinct shadow along his jawline, as if he hadn’t shaved that morning. She looked down at his hand covering hers. His fingertips were long and blunt-edged, the nails cut short. No “man”-icures for him. Just a plain-old nail clipper, she suspected. The same kind as the one she kept at home in her apartment.
Just tell him. The words seemed to scream through her head. “I’ve been lying to you.” She pushed out the words.
His hand didn’t move on hers, but she felt his stillness. “About what?”
She felt her shoulders bowing forward and made herself sit up straighter. “About everything.” Her voice turned hoarse and she reached for the iced tea again.
His hand fell away from hers as she did so. He slid a pair of aviator-style sunglasses out of his jacket and pulled them on.
She felt herself quailing and took another deep drink of tea, only to cough a little as it went down the wrong way.
He didn’t move. Just continued watching her, his lips unsmiling, his eyes no longer visible. His hair was brushed ruthlessly back from his face, looking more brown than blond despite the sunlight angling around the ivory market umbrella shading the table. “My name isn’t really Savannah,” she said huskily. “It’s just Sarah-Jane.”
His eyebrows tugged together, but beyond that, he made no response.
“Just plain, plain Sarah-Jane. Sarah-Jane Early.” There. It was out. Soon, she’d be able to escape.
The impassive darkness of his sunglasses shifted as he tilted his head slightly. “And...?”
She lifted her shoulder and shook her head. “And...nothing. That’s it. I’m Sarah-Jane and I’m Maria Mendoza’s assistant manager at The Stocking Stitch.” She plucked the embroidered logo on her shirt once and dropped her hand back to the table, circling the nearly empty glass. “She owns the shop and I was doing her a favor the other night at Red, filling in during the wedding reception.”
He shifted in his chair and his distressed leather jacket fell open, revealing even more of the charcoal shirt stretched across his hard chest.
Maria had it right. Wyatt Fortune was very masculine. And very, very attractive.
She pulled her gaze away to stare into her iced tea. She lifted her leaden shoulders. “And that’s it. The real me. I don’t wear beautiful clothes or go to Italian restaurants or dance on walking bridges.”
He cocked his head slightly and after a moment, sat forward. He nudged down his glasses and those brilliant blue eyes peered at her over the frames. “I beg to differ, Sarah-Jane. You did those things.” His lips twitched. “Very well, actually.”
She made herself sit very still, when all she wanted to do was squirm with discomfort. “You’re just being kind.”
“No,” he said slowly, “I’m being honest. What I don’t understand is why you felt like you had to lie about your name.” He pulled off his glasses and tossed them on the table. “What’s wrong with Sarah-Jane?”
He seemed genuinely confused.
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came. Nothing that he could possibly understand, anyway. Instead, she started to push out of the chair. “You deserved to know the truth.”
“Whoa, hold on there.” His hand shot out, catching her arm. “Where do you think you’re running off to?”
“Back to the shop.”
“You agreed to have lunch with me.” He pulled gently on her arm until she subsided once more in the chair.
She eyed him. “I don’t—” she broke off. Tried again. “Why would you still want to have lunch with me?”
He gave that faint smile again. “Because you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Even though she’d sat back down, his hand was still wrapped around her forearm. “I really don’t care what your name is, Sarah-Jane. It could be Gertrude for all I care. Savannah is a beautiful city, but I think Sarah-Jane suits you.”
She grimaced. “Plain Sarah-Jane.”
He squeezed her arm gently. “They used to call me Buy-it Wyatt in school.”
She didn’t know where the laugh came from, but it bubbled past her lips and she clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Being a Fortune isn’t always easy.” Something came and went in his eyes, but he still smiled. “And there’s nothing plain about the Sarah-Jane I’m looking at.” He finally let go of her arm and sat back in his chair. He didn’t even have to lift his hand to get the attention of the waiter. The young man just seemed to materialize tableside.
“What can I get you, Mr. Fortune?”
Wyatt looked toward Sarah-Jane. She hadn’t even picked up the narrow, one-page menu from where it sat in the middle of the stone table. She was looking at him, her expression baffled. Wyatt glanced at the server. “Two of the Casa salads,” he ordered.
“Could you put the dressing on the side for me, please?” Sarah-Jane roused herself enough to ask.
“You bet.” The boy took the menus and strode away, heading around the end of the glittering pool toward the indoor eating area.
“I have the phone number from The Stocking Stitch in my phone now.” Wyatt slid an unused white napkin toward Sarah-Jane and handed her the pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. “How about a home number? Or an address?”
She picked up the pen and, careful not to tear the casual, paper napkin, wrote out the information. “You don’t have to call me or anything just to be nice,” she said, nudging the items back to him.
He pocketed the pen and left the napkin next to his iced-tea glass. Once he’d seen a number, he rarely forgot it, but he liked looking at it there. Knowing that she’d offered it. It was more satisfying than having a wary kitten decide it was safe to climb in your lap. “There’re plenty of folks who’d quickly tell you I’m not always nice at all.”
“I doubt that.”
In the bright sunshine, her eyes looked more like golden caramel than chocolate and they were almost enough to make him forget what he was saying. “Someday when you meet my brothers, you’ll have proof.” Much to his regret, her lashes swept down, hiding those eyes. And that wasn’t going to do, at all. “What does the assistant manager of a knitting shop do, anyway?”
Almost immediately, the wary frown between her eyes seemed to ease. “Whatever Maria needs me to do,” she said. “I handle inventory, maintaining it, stocking it, that sort of thing. Work with the customers, teach some classes. Maintain the website, take care of order fulfillment. Whatever comes up.”
“What does Maria do?”
“Hiring and firing.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve tried the firing part lately. We have a part-time girl helping out during the afternoons, but it’s just not working out.”
“Have you told her what the problem is?” He almost asked her what the details were since she was clearly more comfortable talking about work than herself, but figured that would be too nosy. Particularly when the person was still in their employ.
Sarah-Jane was nodding. “More than once. So far she hasn’t changed her ways. Maria told me this morning that I need to let her go. I’m not looking forward to it. I know she’s helping out with the bills at home. She’s one of three and their mother’s a single mom. Struggling.” She looked troubled. “I know that’s why she took—” She broke off and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”
“You’re too soft-hearted. If the girl’s stealing—and yes, I know you didn’t tell me that, but I’m guessing—cut her loose.” Suddenly, the topic felt too close to home. His father hadn’t stolen JMF from them, but he might as well have. In making his unilateral decision to sell, he’d snatched away from Wyatt and his brothers any say with the company that they’d helped run. The company they’d helped grow and
become even more successful. The company they’d all believed to be their future. “Maria is right to fire her,” he said, his voice flatter than he intended. “Right is right and wrong is wrong. There’s no gray area in between.”
“Well.” Sarah-Jane looked uncomfortable. “I’d like to think that sometimes there is a reason to look for that gray.”
There was no gray area where his father’s actions had been concerned. Fortunately, before Wyatt could decide whether or not he wanted to debate the point with Sarah-Jane, the waiter returned and set their salads in front of them. It was a lot more pleasurable watching Sarah-Jane eat than it was thinking about his father.
He picked up his own fork and dumped half of the spicy dressing over the elaborate Tex-Mex salad. Sarah-Jane, on the other hand, used only a fraction, he noticed. “Dressing too spicy for your tastes?”
Her gaze darted almost guiltily to the silver container next to her plate. “Not at all. I’m a native Texan. I like spicy.” As if to prove it, she found a piece of jalapeno pepper with her fork and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes closed, distinct pleasure suffusing her expressive features.
Heat streaked straight down his spine. He let out a breath, looking away from her face to his own salad. God help him if he ever had the opportunity to share real pleasure with her.
She’d eaten only about half of the salad when she started looking at her watch. “I’m going to have to get back to the shop. We have a knitting group coming in this afternoon from San Antonio.” She set down her fork and dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
He gestured for the waiter. “They don’t have sewing shops in San Antonio?”
“Knitting,” she corrected with a smile. “And sure they do. Just none that are as fine as The Stocking Stitch. We have one group who regularly comes all the way from Dallas.”
“To do what?”
She laughed softly. “Knit, of course.”
“And you knit.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well enough to teach a few classes,” she said mildly.
“I suppose your mother taught you?”
The sparkle dimmed a little. “I learned how to knit and crochet when I was away at college. The first time I picked up a pair of knitting needles I was hooked.” Her smile returned. “No pun intended.”
“What do you make?”
She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “Why, musty ol’ knit caps and scarves,” she drawled dryly. “Isn’t that what you think?”
He actually felt heat rise up his throat.
She chuckled. “You’d be surprised what kinds of things are hand-knitted or crocheted.” She sat back when the waiter returned. Wyatt asked for the check.
“Sure thing, Mr. Fortune. Do you want me to box up the rest of your salads?”
Wyatt, who’d actually found himself wondering what surprising things there could be, started to shake his head, but Sarah-Jane was nodding. “Yes, please,” she told the boy. “It’s delicious, but I really have to get back to work.”
“Not a problem at all.” The waiter took their plates and headed toward the doors again.
“I won’t have to cook anything for dinner.” Sarah-Jane looked happy with that prospect.
“Save it for lunch tomorrow and I’ll take you out to dinner.”
Just that easily, the wary little line reappeared between her soft, brown eyebrows. “I can’t. Those classes I mentioned teaching? I have one tonight. Every Tuesday and Thursday, actually.”
“Tomorrow’s Wednesday. What about that?”
He saw a swallow work down her throat. “I promised my roommate I’d help her at her shop tomorrow night after work.”
“Another shop. Let me guess. Sewing stuff?”
The line disappeared and she smiled again. “True Confections,” she said. “The most wonderful candies and chocolates you can ever imagine. I was delivering an order of them to the hotel here when you caught me New Year’s morning. Your cousin, Wendy, ordered them specially for that brunch.”
“Which explains why you were so anxious not to join me when I asked?”
Her gaze dropped guiltily and her nose turned pink.
“Don’t ever lie,” he murmured lightly, brushing his finger quickly down the fine line of her nose. “Now I know the sign that’ll give you away every time.”
She didn’t look at him when the waiter came back bearing the take-out containers holding the rest of their meals. She thanked the boy and waited until he’d left the check portfolio next to Wyatt and departed again before her gaze met his shyly. She stood and clutched the container. “Thank you for lunch, Wyatt. It was very nice.”
“So polite again.” He picked up the napkin she’d written on. “Don’t go away thinking I don’t intend to use this. Just because I haven’t pinned you down to dinner yet doesn’t mean I won’t.”
She looked up to the sky, shaking her head a little helplessly. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to pin me down for anything.”
He couldn’t help but grin at that. “Now there’s an interesting thought,” he murmured and watched the color rise up her face when she realized what he meant.
She lifted her wrist abruptly. “Look at the time. I’m late. Thanks again for the salad.” She whirled on the heel of her sensible white tennis shoes and hurried away.
Wyatt laughed softly, watching the sway of her hips and the way her long ponytail swished back and forth. He would be calling on her again.
Sooner or later, she’d learn that he always meant what he said.
* * *
“Good grief,” Felicity breathed as she peered at the computer screen in front of her. “Wyatt’s even dated one of the winners of a Georgia beauty pageant.” She looked over her shoulder toward Sarah-Jane where she was sitting on the couch with her own laptop, studying the knitting pattern she was designing. “Listen to this. ‘Vice president and financial whiz kid of JMF Financial, Wyatt Fortune, escorts Georgianna Boudreaux to the red carpet premiere of Texas Made,’” she quoted. “Hey. That’s that movie with the actress you made the crocheted bikini for.” She studied the photo on her screen. “I think Georgianna Boudreaux’s the one who had to give up her crown when nude pictures of her hit the internet.”
“Great,” Sarah-Jane muttered. “From beauty pageant winners to me.” She made a mark on the pattern, expanding the grid. She wanted her “River Walk Lights” design to encompass the entire sweater and so far, she wasn’t satisfied with her progress.
Probably because every time she thought about that night on the River Walk, she thought about Wyatt.
Basically, every time she thought about anything, she thought about Wyatt.
Since their lunch that afternoon, he now knew the truth about her foolish deception. But even though her conscience was clear, it hadn’t stopped her from worrying at the thought of him like an itch she couldn’t reach. “Wyatt needs to go back to Georgia, obviously.”
“Why obviously?”
Sarah-Jane exhaled and gave her friend a look. “Red Rock has to be boring for him. Why else bother with me?”
“From everything I’ve been reading about him on the internet, it doesn’t sound like he’d do anything out of boredom. If he doesn’t want to stay in Red Rock, why would he?”
Sarah-Jane lifted her shoulder, trying in vain to focus on her computerized pattern. “Who knows? He hasn’t talked much about himself.” Buy-it Wyatt. He told you that.
She gave up on the pattern and went over to stand behind Felicity. She peered at the photograph on the computer screen. “That’s him all right.”
From the gleaming dark blond hair to the brilliantly blue, level gaze, the wry quirk of his perfectly shaped lips, and the quarterback’s build, it was Wyatt Fortune. And the renounced beauty queen beside him was as different from Sarah-Jane as up was from down.
She quickly returned to the couch, but the image was burned on her mind.
Not that she needed more proof that Wyatt was
ridiculously out of her league. She already knew that, thank you very much.
She poked at the computer keys only to close the pattern, changes entirely unsaved. She set aside the laptop, stood up and feigned a stretch. It was barely ten o’clock and she’d been home from her beginning knitting class for an hour. “I’m going to bed.”
“To dream about having outrageous sex with Wyatt Fortune?”
“No,” Sarah-Jane denied witheringly, but Felicity just continued grinning wickedly. “For a staunch virgin, you’re awfully preoccupied with sex,” she pointed out.
Felicity’s expression didn’t change one bit. “Just because I’m determined to wait for the right man—”
“—a marrying man, you mean—”
“Darned tootin’,” her friend agreed without hesitation. “Doesn’t mean I never think about it.” She pointed at Sarah-Jane. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to veer this discussion away from yourself.”
“What discussion?” Sarah-Jane tossed a decorative pillow she’d knit in True Confections’ aqua at her friend’s head and made for the stairway.
Felicity caught the pillow midair. “He is going to call you,” she called after Sarah-Jane. “I can feel it in my bones. And you’re going to go out with him again if it’s the last thing I do!”
Sarah-Jane hurried up the steps, pretending not to hear.
She’d been the amusement of one male already once in her life. Admittedly, that humiliating experience had been nearly ten years ago. But once was more than enough.
If—and a larger if, she couldn’t imagine—Wyatt did seek her out again, she would resist him.
She just wasn’t exactly sure how she’d make herself accomplish it.
* * *
“Earth to Wyatt Fortune.”
Wyatt looked at his little sister, who was watching him with arched eyebrows. “Did you say something?”
Her lips compressed and she shared a look with her other brothers. “I told you he wasn’t listening.”
They were at Red, where their sister had come to meet them for lunch. Truthfully, Wyatt hadn’t been listening to the conversation going on around him. He’d been thinking about his lunch with Sarah-Jane the day before. “I’m listening now,” he said.
Her New Year's Fortune Page 8
