by Gold, Kristi
In Savannah’s experience, that was rare, but not completely unheard of. “Would you recommend him anyway?”
“Probably so. He’s supposed to be a shark. In fact, I kind of got the feeling he would’ve rather been representing Darlene so he could go after me for what I’m worth.”
First problem solved. “Good. Jess is going to need that kind of representation to battle the Wainwrights. Do you have his number?”
“Up at the house. I’ll write it down before you leave.”
At least she’d accomplished that goal. Now on to the next.
Savannah returned to petting Sky because she simply couldn’t look at Sam without giving her uneasiness away. As the stallion nuzzled her hand, Savannah snagged the opportunity to delay the conversation a bit longer. “I see you haven’t changed a bit, Sky. Always trying to woo the ladies whenever you have the chance. I bet you’re still the most sought-after stallion in the county.” Aside from his owner.
“He’s retired from breeding duty,” Sam said. “I turn him out in the evenings and let him run. The rest of the time he basically eats and sleeps. I thought about gelding him, but I decided that wouldn’t be fair since I’ve already sold off the broodmares. No need to add injury to the insult.”
Savannah shifted into avoidance overdrive. “Why did you sell the broodmares?”
“The market wasn’t that good at the time and I was practically giving away top-quality foals. Wasn’t worth the effort any longer.”
“Sky would probably disagree.” When she sensed Sam moving closer, she tried to brace herself. “I remember how exciting it was every time a new foal hit the ground. I also remember that one filly that looked just like Sky. What was her name?”
“Maggie. Is that why you’re here, to discuss Sky’s offspring?”
She continued to stare into Sky’s stall even after the stallion had left her company for the hay bag hanging in the opposite corner. “I came to tell you I’ve been thinking a lot about what you suggested last night.”
“And?” he asked when she hesitated.
“I have a few things I need to say.” She prepared to spell them out, one by one, as she turned toward him. “First, I appreciate our conversation last night. You were very helpful.”
“You’ve already told me that.”
“True, but it bears repeating. However, I do have some concerns. I’m worried that if we continue to socialize on a regular basis while I’m in town, other things might possibly come into play.”
“You’re talking about sex.” Sam didn’t pose it as a question, only a statement of fact. “Yes.”
He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem now that you recognize it’s just a grief phase.”
“I lied.”
“Oh, yeah?” His cat-ate-the-canary smirk said he wasn’t all that taken aback by the disclosure.
“I suppose grief could be part of it, but I realize that there’s still some—”
“Chemistry between us.”
“Yes.” The admission and Sam’s unwavering scrutiny sent her down the aisle to pace like a caged cougar. “That underlying chemistry could present major complications.”
“You mean sex.”
She stopped a few feet away and turned back around. “Precisely. And although I wouldn’t mind having a friendly relationship with you, we would have to avoid—”
“Sex.”
If she heard the word one more time, she might start screaming like a banshee. “Would you stop repeating yourself? I feel like I’m in a marketing seminar and you’re trying to sell me on it.”
He swiped his arm across his forehead. “According to the marketing ‘rule of seven,’ I’d have to repeat it four more times to sell you on it.”
“How do you know about marketing strategy?”
“I’m not as dumb as I look.”
He was anything but dumb. “Well, I’m not buying it no matter how many more times you say it.”
“Good, because selling sex is illegal.” He had the gall to grin.
“Back to the pertinent issues at hand.” If she could actually remember them in light of all the “sex” talk. “I have a few ground rules I want to lay out before we go any further.”
“What a shocker,” he said.
She ignored Sam’s sarcasm and began the countdown. “First, we can talk about the past, as long as we don’t dwell on the pond, parking at the pond or necking at the pond.”
“What about Manny’s front seat?”
From the amusement in his expression, Savannah surmised he was so enjoying her predicament. “That’s out and you know it. We have plenty more memories to focus on, such as high school football games and the six-pack. And we can certainly talk about the present, my job, the farm, your daughter.”
“The price of commodities?” he asked.
His smugness was starting to wear on her tolerance. “Whatever floats your boat. Furthermore, it would behoove us not to be alone together in a place where the opportunity to—”
When he opened his mouth, she wagged a finger at him. “Don’t say it.”
As he pretended to zip his lips, Savannah clung to the last scrap of patience. “In summary, I wouldn’t be opposed to being friendly with you as long as we have an understanding of the rules.”
“Are you done now?”
Not until she turned the tables on him. “I just wanted to add that aside from your innuendo the night after the bar and what happened in the workshop yesterday, you’ve been rather restrained. That would lead me to believe that maybe you’re the one who’s afraid to—”
He moved faster than that proverbial speeding bullet and framed her face in his palms, quelling her words with a kiss. A deep, insistent kiss that didn’t last long enough before he released her and stepped back.
As soon as the mental fog cleared, Savannah firmed her resolve. “You clearly can’t follow the rules.”
“I just don’t like being called a coward.”
She enjoyed a good deal of satisfaction that he wasn’t quite the iron man he pretended to be. “How do you think I felt when you accused me of—”
“It’s my turn to speak, Savannah.”
He sounded so gruff she could only utter, “Okay.”
“Like I told you in the shop yesterday,” he began, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a few fantasies about you. Truth be told, I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you in the diner. If you were wearing a burlap sack, no makeup and your hair was a freakin’ mess, I’d want you. But I want a few other things more.”
Sam stopped only long enough to draw a breath while Savannah patiently waited for him to continue. “I want simple. I want to wake up at sunrise and work the land and I want to go home at sundown to my family. I also want friends I can count on, not people who pretend to be my friends. But I damn sure don’t want complications. So no matter how this plays out between us, I’m not going to let a little lust screw up what I want.”
Savannah couldn’t agree more, but she still had one burning question. “Then why did you kiss me?”
“It seemed like the only way to shut you up.”
He’d done that, and quite well. She was still feeling the effects, particularly in her knees that felt as flimsy as rubber bands. “So you say, but I’m not convinced you won’t do it again if given the opportunity.”
A flicker of anger showed in his eyes. “And I don’t like being on trial while you’re playing judge and jury, ready to convict me for being untrustworthy.”
The next confession could be a killer. “Maybe I don’t trust myself.”
“You’re a strong woman, Savannah,” he said in a lighter tone. “You can do anything you set your mind to. But if you don’t think being friendly with me is worth the risk, then that’s fine. And just so you know, I can control myself. The question is, can you?”
“Daddy! Gracie said she needs some help!”
Savannah spun back around and through the open half door leading to
the outside paddock, caught sight of Jamie sprinting back to the house.
“I swear, she’s a master at interruption,” Sam said. “Makes me wonder how people with six-year-olds make other babies.”
She didn’t care to think about making babies, or at least the process of making babies. “I really have to go,” she said as she worked her way around him in order to make a hasty exit.
He caught her arm before she could leave. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Are you going to the festival with us or do we part ways now?”
“I need more time to think.” She couldn’t do that with him staring at her.
He released her and folded his arms across his chest. “I want an answer before you leave this damn barn so I know what to tell my kid.”
Talk about demanding. “If we stay here any longer, Gracie’s going to assume something nefarious is going on.”
“Is that a fancy word for saying she’ll think we’ve been rolling in the hay?”
Boy, did that bring back one heck of a memory. “We did that once, remember? Luckily I could hide the scratches with my clothes.”
Sam streaked both hands down his face, as if trying to erase the recollection. “Kind of hard to forget those times when you’re around.”
Recognizing she’d sufficiently shattered one of her rules, Savannah added, “Then maybe we should just fondly remember how it used to be between us and leave it at that.”
He picked up the shovel, his expression showing a good deal of frustration. “Fine. If that’s what you want. But you need to make up your mind and stick to it.”
As if she hadn’t been reminding herself of that same thing. “You keep confusing me.”
“You’re confused because deep down you know that you could use a friend. A real friend. Maybe if you keep telling yourself otherwise, you’ll start to believe it.”
Savannah wanted to curse Sam for his candor, for the absolute legitimacy of his words. She did want to be his friend, but she didn’t want the heartache that could result from executing that leap of faith.
As far as the festival went, Savannah probably should stay home, stay away from him. But what she should do warred once again with what she wanted to do. As long as she stayed grounded, and stayed away from situations like this, she saw no real reason not to spend a little more time with Sam and his daughter before she left Placid behind, once and for all.
“Tell Jamie I’ll go.”
BY THE TIME EVENING ARRIVED, Savannah began to wonder if her mother would make it home. When half past eleven rolled around, she bordered on being extremely concerned—until she wandered into the kitchen for a soda and found the note attached to the refrigerator door with a magnet.
Spending the night in town with Rosie. I’ll be back tomorrow evening after the festival.
No heartfelt endearment. No affectionate closing. Nothing more than a terse explanation of her whereabouts.
Savannah shouldn’t be so surprised, yet she couldn’t deny the little sting of hurt and a good deal of frustration. She’d planned to have the long-delayed talk with her mother, but now that would have to wait another day.
As soon as she finished eating, she decided to take a shower and begin a book she’d been meaning to read for months. But while she bathed, a thought occurred to her. She was alone, and she now had a prime opportunity to investigate the contents of the mysterious sketch pad. Provided she could actually find it.
Dressed in her favorite blue silk nightshirt and a towel turban wound around her damp hair, Savannah returned to the attic where she’d made the initial discovery. She found the box in the same spot on the floor, only this time it had been secured with two rows of tape.
If she had any decency at all, she’d leave it be. Unfortunately, she had too much curiosity to ignore the chance to learn exactly what her mother had been hiding. As soon as she was finished playing detective, she’d reseal the carton and no one would be the wiser.
Savannah dislodged the edge of the tape with her thumbnail, carefully pulled it free and opened the lid. Once more she sorted through the contents, expecting to find the drawings beneath the other items, to no avail. But when had her mother ever done what was expected?
Spent from the day and disappointment, she decided to call off the search for the time being. She resealed the box with the existing tape, headed down the attic staircase and on impulse, paused in the hallway at her mother’s bedroom. If she opened the door on the off chance that she might find the drawings, she would be committing the ultimate invasion of privacy. She might also have some answers.
Not a soul would know, she told herself as she turned the knob and stepped inside. Rows of gray plastic storage bins lined the faded white walls that displayed brighter squares where pictures had once hung. The knickknacks and favorite books had been removed from the shelves and pine dresser, leaving only a lone lamp on the nightstand…and the missing sketch pad.
Ignoring the tiny bite of guilt, Savannah crossed the room, took the pad and sat on the edge of the perfectly made double bed. She studied the first drawing and noticed it carried her mother’s initials and a date that indicated it had been created two months before they’d relocated to Placid. She moved on to the next sketch and the next, soon realizing that according to the descending dates, her mother had started at the back of the pad and worked her way forward.
The first few drawings depicted scenes of flowers and panoramas, a few featured farmland and wildlife. But as the drawings moved back in time, the subject matter seemed more bleak—a stark, gnarled tree standing alone in a field. A house with darkened windows. But the most startling drawing of all had been torn out yet preserved in its original place at the back of the pad.
Large hands with clawlike fingers filled most of the yellowed page. Sinister, scary hands that looked ready to strike. And most disturbing, what appeared to be a small child cowered in the corner of the remaining space, drawn right above the date that showed Ruth had only been twelve years old when she’d created the sketch.
Savannah truly believed that the drawing wasn’t the musings of an imaginative child. In her mind, it conveyed a story of unspeakable abuse, perhaps the only way her mother had been able to express her terror.
Along with a queasy stomach, Savannah now had more questions than answers. Had her mother been the victim depicted in the pictures? Had she witnessed someone else being injured? Had anyone known what she’d suffered?
Savannah couldn’t help but wonder if she finally found the key to her mother’s emotional shutdown when she walked back into this house. Yet if she attempted to find all the answers, she would have to admit to her mother how she’d come by the knowledge. And if she did force an open dialogue, in turn reviving a past that Ruth obviously wanted to forget, she might do more harm to their relationship than good.
For the first time in a long time, Savannah had no idea what to do. She could use some advice, a solid sounding board. Someone who could guide her down the right path.
She could call Jess, but her friend had her own personal problems. The last thing Rachel needed was a late-night call when she was enduring pregnancy fatigue.
Savannah could think of only one other person whom she trusted enough to discuss the discovery.
Sam.
CHAPTER TEN
SOMETHING WAS UP.
In Sam’s experience, no one called the house that close to midnight unless it involved some kind of emergency. Or it could be one of his now-and-again women claiming she had a fire that he needed to be put out, something he didn’t care to deal with at the moment.
He answered with a gruff “Hello,” and a soft voice answered, “It’s me, Sam.”
“Me,” meaning the only woman who’d been on his mind of late, and the reason why he’d been restless for the past hour. He figured she was about to say she wasn’t going to the festival tomorrow. Maybe even to announce she’d decided to go back to Chicago. If that happened to be the case, he’d deal with it. “What do you need, S
avannah?”
“Remember when I told you something was going on with my mother?”
Something was always going on with her mother. “Yeah.”
“I think I know what she didn’t want me to see. I found it in her bedroom.” She sighed. “I’m probably jumping to conclusions, so go back to sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As if he could really sleep now. “Why don’t you tell me what you found and I’ll let you know what I think?”
“It’s a drawing. A really strange drawing. She used to sketch years ago.”
He’d never pegged Ruth Greer as an artist, but nothing surprised him these days. “What do you mean by strange?”
“It’s frightening and I believe it has something to do with her past.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“I can’t. She’s spending the night in town. I know it sounds crazy, but you’d have to see it to understand why I’m so concerned.”
That was a suggestion worth jumping all over. A chance to show her the kind of friend he could be. The kind of man he was. “I’ll come by and take a look.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s late and you have to be up early.”
He tucked the receiver between his chin and shoulder and grabbed his jeans from the bedpost. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Without giving Savannah a chance to argue, Sam hung up the phone, shrugged into his jeans and a T-shirt and yanked on his boots, then headed out the door. He considered going to her place by foot before deciding to take the new truck to save time. He climbed inside the cab, turned on the ignition but not the headlights so he wouldn’t wake his dad. Like the diesel engine wasn’t loud enough to disturb the whole town.
Damn, if he wasn’t acting like an anxious kid sneaking out of the house on his way to a forbidden rendezvous with his girl. But Savannah wasn’t “his girl.” She was all woman, and only a friend. On the one hand, he welcomed having her friendship again. On the other, he still worried about getting too close to her. But he’d always been willing to take a few risks, even when the outcome might not turn out the way he’d planned. And as sure as he knew every last acre of the family farm, one thing remained true—in a matter of days, he’d probably never see her again. All the more reason to take advantage of the time they had left and deal with the fallout later.
