Not Over You (Healing Springs, Book 1)

by Amanda Torrey

  Quentin sprang into action. He demanded that she show him her finger, then wrapped it and pulled a first aid kit out of the island drawer. She watched him as he worked. It was a tiny cut, barely any blood, but he worked with precision and authority. He wrapped the bandage around her finger and kissed it gently.

  She melted.

  Damn those brown eyes and the power they had on her. Why did his eyelashes have to be so damned seductive? Why did her body have to betray her so freaking much? Why couldn’t she keep the distance her mind told her she should be keeping?

  “I guess if I’m going to be careless, it’s best to be around an EMT.”

  He smiled. Her knees weakened. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “Paramedic, actually.”

  “Oh, excuse me.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You’re forgiven. Just always remember one thing. I live to serve.”

  Yeah, he could serve her. On the counter. On the floor. In his bedroom.

  “I have to get going, though. I have a meeting.” His voice was huskier, deeper.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll clean up.”

  “You finish what you’re doing. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Thank you.”

  He left her and Rocco alone in his kitchen.

  She missed him as soon as he closed the door.

  Chapter Five

  Two hours later, Savannah was putting the finishing touches on the dog food when the front door swung open. She jumped, dropping one of her lids on the floor.

  “I’ll get it!” A cheerful voice shouted. She froze when she saw the brown-haired cherub rushing to her side, an eager look on his sweet face. She looked around the room, frantic, knowing she shouldn’t be around children. She was a hazard.

  Savannah double checked the burner to be sure the boy couldn’t get hurt. Did she leave the knife on the counter? Panic fueled her heart. Nope, it was already in the strainer, all washed. She willed herself to calm down before her anxiety created a storm.

  The little boy reached up to place the lid on the counter.

  “Thank you,” Savannah squeaked out, her voice trembling a little.

  Quentin strolled in, casually at first, but with a look of concern when he noticed her panic.

  “Joey, why don’t you go ahead and put your stuff away. I’ll get your lunch ready.”

  Quentin’s eyes didn’t leave Savannah’s. She didn’t blame him for sending the kid away from her. She was a mess. And a killer.

  Her hands shook as she began packing her things away. She had cleaned up most of the kitchen, but still had to wipe down the counter.

  Her adrenaline would probably help her whip through the rest of her tasks in three minutes or less. She could be out of here before the boy returned to the kitchen.

  Quentin’s hand stilled hers. She looked up at him, eyes wide and scared.

  “I’ll be out of here in a minute.” She breathed deeply to avoid stuttering. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “You don’t have to leave. Stay for lunch.”

  She shook her head, emotions she couldn’t identify clogging her throat.

  “Joey had a half day today, so he’s eager for a special dad-made meal. His nanny usually cooks, but she’s away this week.”

  Dad. Nanny. Domesticity.

  She couldn’t wrap her head around it all.

  The boy returned faster than she anticipated.

  Her stomach twisted in knots that would give a sailor a challenge. Vomit gathered in her throat. She had carefully avoided children. Even in the store she worked in—if a child entered the store, Valentina, the store owner, had learned to accept that Savannah would disappear into the back storage room.

  She needed to escape.

  Quentin leaned closer.

  “He’s just a child. He doesn’t even bite anymore.” He smiled, but this time it wasn’t enough to settle her nerves.

  The boy hopped like a frog over to Rocco, who immediately rolled onto his back to show submission. The boy screeched in excitement, rubbing the dog’s belly with enthusiasm.

  “Joey, you didn’t ask if you could pet the dog.”

  “Can I play with the dog?” He didn’t stop petting while he waited for the answer.

  Savannah looked from the boy to Quentin, not knowing what to do, not able to speak. Quentin nodded, seemingly granting permission.

  “He’d like that.” She didn’t know how the words managed to escape her clogged throat, but she was grateful they did. She couldn’t be rude to a child. She didn’t want to be, anyway.

  Lost in her own misery, she watched as the boy brought a ball to toss for Rocco. While Rocco would happily chase it, he wouldn’t bring it back to the child. The boy—Joey—laughed gleefully at Rocco’s antics. When he told Rocco to drop it, Rocco complied. Quentin joined in the fun, and soon they were playing “Rocco in the middle” as father and son tossed the ball back and forth over Rocco’s head. As soon as Rocco caught on to the game, he began leaping up to catch the ball mid-flight. This made Joey bend over, holding his belly as he laughed with the purest sound she had heard in over ten years.

  When Joey began tossing the ball directly to Rocco, Quentin exclaimed, “Hey!” He crouched down and ran over to his son, scooping him up and swinging him around in a circle until they were both dizzy. Savannah found herself smiling as she watched them play. Her fear was still palpable, but the young boy’s chortle was a bit contagious, even for a heart as hardened as hers.

  As they twirled, Savannah began to see a young Brandon being swung in the same way, by the same guy that was flesh and blood in front of her.

  She blinked rapidly, bringing herself back to the present as she tuned in to what was being said to her.

  “Go ahead, ask her again.” Quentin smiled and rubbed his son’s shoulders.

  “Please. Stay. For. Lunch!” Joey jumped into the air after each word to punctuate his request.

  “Oh, I couldn’t…”

  “You don’t like lunch?” The boy scrunched up his face. “Sometimes I don’t like lunch and my dad says, ‘You have to eat your lunch.’” Joey deepened his little-boy voice as if imitating his father.

  Savannah smiled. “That is true, you do have to eat lunch.”

  “You could make it for us! Nana Robby isn’t here!”

  “Joey, she’s our guest. We’ll make lunch for her.”

  Savannah laughed out loud at the “no way” expression on Joey’s face.

  Quentin’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “Hey, you told me once that I make the best grilled cheese on the planet.”

  “But not on Mars,” the little boy grinned.

  “But we’re on Earth, so we should be good.”

  “But she already made food.” Joey gestured to the counter.

  “But that’s for her dog,” Quentin sassed back, leaning forward in the same playful way as his son.

  The boy placed his little fists on his hips and gave Savannah the exact look his father had given her when she mentioned making the food for Rocco.

  “You cooked food for your dog?”

  She laughed again. This kid was every bit as much of a character as his father was when they were younger.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “But dogs eat trash. And feet.”

  “They do, do they?” She played along. Obviously his father had taught him something crazy. “Do you have a dog that eats feet?”

  The boy giggled. “All dogs eat feet. My teacher brought one to a picnic and it tried to catch everyone’s feet to eat them. I wouldn’t let it catch me because I’m super fast Joey!” He ran around the kitchen to demonstrate.

  “Wow, you sure are fast!”

  “Alright, alright, you little show-off,” Quentin began. “Go wash your hands and get over here to help me put the cheese on the bread. We’re going to show this young lady how the Elliot men do things.”

  “She’s not young! She’s old. Like you!”

  “Ooh, you’d b
etter run, kid.” Quentin shrugged at Savannah as Joey ran away squealing. “I have no control over the things that come out of that kid’s mouth.”

  Savannah felt her heart crackling as she watched the father and son pair playing so joyfully, Rocco following them like the playful pup he was.

  Minutes later, Quentin tried to send Joey off to play with his toys while Quentin prepared the bread and cheese, since Joey adamantly refused to participate. Joey ran to Savannah and grabbed her hand. She wanted to jerk away, to recoil from the innocence of his touch. She managed to resist the urge.

  “Come with me,” Joey demanded.

  Savannah looked to Quentin for help. He didn’t notice as he busied himself spreading butter on the bread.

  Joey pulled.

  “I should, ah, I need to help your dad.”

  “No. He’s big. You come see my toys.”

  Since the buffoon standing next to her wasn’t rescuing her from his son, and even Rocco was sprawled across a sunny spot near the window, she had to follow the boy.

  She knew she should run. She should come up with some reason why she had to make a sudden departure. This boy didn’t know she was a danger. He didn’t know she couldn’t keep him safe.

  He didn’t know.

  And yet, he wanted her to play. With him. He was the open-eyed, cute-demanding, framed-on-the-wall picture of trust. She couldn’t shatter that trust by denying his wishes. Just a few minutes to suffer through, for the sake of the young child’s ego, and she could return to her solitary, safe life.

  Surely a few moments wouldn’t do any harm.

  Savannah allowed herself to be dragged to the other room. Joey dumped a box of cardboard blocks and asked her to help him build a tower. She complied, silent at first. He chattered enough for both of them. She focused mainly on the construction activity, but she couldn’t help sneaking the occasional peek at the boy. His brown hair was floppy. He had a habit of pushing it out of his eyes with both hands. When he concentrated, his fingers danced as though he were a conductor. He loved to jump and bounce and leap—even if it meant knocking over the tower they were building.

  He caught her staring and stared back.

  “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?”

  She laughed, and though she rarely blushed, she thought she was indeed turning red.

  “Oh, no! Not at all.”

  “Then why are you here? And so pretty?”

  She quirked her brow at his seemingly random thoughts.

  “You think I’m pretty?”

  He nodded.

  “If you’re not Daddy’s girlfriend, you will be mine.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yup!” He kicked the blocks out of the way. “I was going to have my teacher for a girlfriend but she’s getting married. Are you getting married?”

  Never. But this wasn’t a therapy session.

  “Nah, I’m free. I have to tell you, though. I’m not really girlfriend material.”

  “What?” He tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out the strangeness of the woman before him. “Let’s play with Legos.”

  The tension returned to her body. Of all the toys in the universe, why the ones that most reminded her of her brother?

  “Hey, Joey! Food will be ready in five minutes. Start cleaning up.” Quentin’s shout from the kitchen was perfectly timed.

  “Oops, we’ve got to clean up. No Legos for today.”

  Joey crossed his arms over his chest, his lip jutting out in a fantastic pout.

  “I want you to see what I made.” His sock-clad foot stomped with as much vigor as a judge’s gavel.

  She didn’t want to. She really didn’t want to. But this young replica of Quentin had some strange pull on feelings long buried, and she couldn’t fathom disappointing the kid.

  She’d have to suck it up.

  “Okay, let’s toss these quickly into the bucket and then you can show me before we eat. That grilled cheese smells delicious.”

  Joey did more bouncing around than cleaning, but Savannah didn’t mind doing the bulk of it. She was surprised at how easy this felt when she allowed herself to not think.

  Joey grabbed her hand again, and this time, she allowed her fingers to relax around his small, chubby hand. She closed her eyes, transported to a time when Brandon had looked up to her. When she was infallible, capable of no harm. When he would hug her and sit on her lap and beg her to read one more story. As a teen, she was most often annoyed at his interference in her life, but they did share those precious moments when she was his world and he was hers. He was always sliding hand-drawn pictures under her door. Many of them were of trophies or rainbows or tree houses (his favorite.)The common factor in all of the drawings was the block-style letters spelling out “#1 Sister.”

  “Look! I’m building a tree house!” Joey’s young, squeaky voice startled her back to Quentin’s home, where she had been led into a small room lined with book shelves. Boxes of Legos lined the lower shelves, reminding her of Brandon’s room.

  Why a tree house? Of all things.

  “Come see!” Joey dragged her down to the floor.

  “That’s impressive,” she managed.

  “I’m trying to make it as good as that one, but Daddy hasn’t been helping like he’s ‘sposed to.”

  Savannah gasped when she followed the direction Joey was pointing in. No way. No freaking way.

  What the hell was Brandon’s tree house model doing here? That was his most prized possession. He had been working on it day and night before he died. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted to go to the lake that day, but Mother Dearest had said he had to get out; that locking himself in his room day in and day out wasn’t healthy for an eight-year-old kid.

  She had made him go with Savannah. He never came home.

  Savannah backed out of the room. She thought she heard Joey calling out to her, but she couldn’t respond. She couldn’t even blink. Shock drove all the blood out of her extremities, making her hands cold and her feet feel like they couldn’t carry her.

  Quentin’s hands on her back surprised her.

  “Everything okay?”

  No. No! Nothing was okay.

  “You have Brandon’s Legos.”

  Quentin closed his eyes for a brief second and took a deep breath, dropping his hands away from her as she swung around to confront him.

  “Why do you have Brandon’s Legos?”

  Anger flooded her face and body with fiery heat.

  “Answer me.” She thought she was keeping her voice in control, not wanting to frighten the child, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Joey, go on into the kitchen and see if you can reach your plate from the cabinet.”

  “I’m out of here.” Savannah stormed toward the kitchen, nearly beating Joey there, but Quentin grabbed her arm.

  “Why are you so mad?”

  “Why am I so mad?” She thought there was a very real possibility that her widening eyes would pop out of her head. “You have my dead brother’s most prized possession, the one thing he loved the most in the world, and you are wondering why I’m mad?”

  “Peaches,” he began.

  “Don’t you dare call me that.”

  He took a step closer and held his hands up in surrender.

  “Savannah, you can have it if you want. Your mother gave me his Legos when Joey was born. She wanted them to be loved by someone else.”

  Her mother gave them away?

  Savannah clenched her fists, driving her fingernails into her palms.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I’m sure it was a shock to see it in there. Joey isn’t allowed to play with the tree house—he can only look at it. He’s trying to emulate the design.”

  Her flame went out with that one gust of wind. A child should enjoy the toys as much as her brother had. It was only fair. Still, she couldn’t quell the irritation she felt toward her mother.

  Her shoulders slumped forward.

  She owed him an apology. Damn,
how she hated that.

  “I’m sorry. I overreacted.” The words were a mumbled mess, but sincere. He graced her with a smile.

  “No apology necessary, though I am impressed. I don’t remember you being the apologizing type.”

  She swatted him on the arm. “Don’t make me retract it.”

  “Daaaaaad! Dad’s girlfriend! Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

  “Guess that’s our cue.” Quentin slung his arm around her shoulder. She liked the weight of it. She liked his scent. She liked his warmth.

  She shrugged out of his half-embrace, ducking to release herself from the very arm she wanted around her.

  “We’ll give him the wrong idea.”

  “I think he already has an idea.” Quentin pulled her close again and kissed the top of her head. Why something so simple made her stomach spin faster than the washer on the spin cycle, she had no idea.

  “Joey, you remember her name. Savannah. That’s what you need to call her.”

  Savannah smiled and accepted the golden grilled cheese and sweet potato fries. She watched as Quentin’s hands sliced apples, amazed at the changes his body had undergone over the years. He had always been well-built and confident, but the past decade had filled him out and roughened his edges in ways she wouldn’t have known to fantasize about.

  She cleared her thoughts as she reminded herself they were in mixed company. Besides, he may flirt with her now and then, but he had made his intentions known last night when he rejected her advances.

  Fine with her. She didn’t need the complications.

  The next hour passed in a tumbling, dizzying, somewhat-wonderful blur. Watching Quentin with his son brought about a whole different set of fantasies—ones where she played the starring role as the woman of the house. As soon as those thoughts were entertained, she squashed them under her running shoes and began planning her departure. Rocco needed a run and she needed fresh, un-Quentin-ified air.

  She said her goodbyes to Joey, who seemed completely uninterested in her as he tried to engage Rocco in another game. Rocco had reached his limit and gave her the “I want to go to sleep now” puppy eyes.

  Joey then begged his father for some TV time. Quentin got him set up in the living room while Savannah gathered her dog food, the extra supplies, and slipped her shoes back on.