The Temptation of Savannah O’Neill

by Molly O'Keefe

  “What?” Savannah cried. “This is not the Wild West, Margot.”

  “No, but it’s our home and I’m eighty and Katie’s eight and you’re a damn librarian. We’re about as defenseless as it gets.”

  “We could get a gun,” Katie said and both Savannah and Margot spun to stare at her. “I’m just saying,” she added sheepishly.

  “We’re not getting a gun,” Margot said. “Matt is sleeping on the porch. End of story.”

  “Can I talk to you?” Savannah said through her teeth. “Privately.”

  “No, you can’t. You’re too wrapped up in the past and the last man who stayed here.”

  Savannah went stiff and pale as ice and Matt had to fight himself not to show a reaction. What last man? And what did he do?

  “You can’t see that this is a perfect solution to our problem,” Margot said.

  Savannah spun toward Matt, not even pretending to smile or be gracious. “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “Stay right there,” Margot said, pointing a finger to the floor in front of Matt’s feet. He wouldn’t have moved even if the earth opened up and tried to swallow him. “Look, we’re targets around here. The police don’t much care for us for a bunch of different reasons, not the least of which is they’re giant dickheads—sorry, Katie.”

  “It’s okay,” Katie said, as though she was taking in the greatest show on earth.

  “The police chief is good to us, but she’s got a whole town to take care of. So, we’re pretty much on our own,” Margot said. “Savannah’s got a problem with men staying here—”

  “Don’t you dare, Margot,” Savannah snapped.

  “Because we’ve been alone a long time.” She held up one elegant finger. “By choice, mind you. Most of the time men are only good for two things, and one of them is buying me drinks.”

  Matt choked back a laugh. What in the world had he stumbled into?

  “But…I’m scared,” Margot admitted. “We all are.” The air in the room seemed to change, a heavy darkness filling the corners, creeping along the floor, the specter of what might have happened last night. Margot’s eyes, suddenly damp, turned to Savannah. “I think if Matt were to stay, maybe we could all sleep instead of worrying who was going to break into our house, or might come looking for us in the night.”

  Savannah and Margot looked at each other for a long time, the kind of silent communication he understood some people had with each other. He turned away, the moment suddenly too intimate to bear witness to, especially when he was lying to them.

  “Do you want to stay here?” Savannah asked him.

  “I want to help,” he said, keeping his real motivation to himself. His quest for justice was his little secret, the heartbeat that kept him moving, and more access to this house and its secrets would only be a good thing. “It’s why you hired me. And if I spent the night, I could get a lot more work done.”

  “We can’t pay you more,” Savannah said. “But with the money you’d be saving—”

  “It works out fine. Truth is,” he said with a shrug, unsure of where these words were coming from and why he was saying them, “I don’t sleep much. So, it really doesn’t matter.”

  “Fine,” Savannah said, squeezing her hands together, but not before Matt saw them tremble. “It’s settled. Matt, welcome to the Manor.”

  KATIE SPENT THE MORNING on Savannah’s lap, which didn’t bother her mother one bit. Savannah was actually dueling with the instinct to somehow chain her daughter to her side.

  If something had happened… She squelched the thought, as she had a thousand times already this morning, and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head. The sun was sliding past high noon and fear and worry were beginning to chase each other in small circles in her stomach.

  What nightmare would tonight bring?

  She already knew she wouldn’t be sleeping. Probably not for the next few nights. And not only because of the break-in.

  There was a man in her house.

  Margot played dirty. She always did. Going behind Savannah’s back that way and giving Matt the sleeping porch—classic Margot maneuvering. But Savannah couldn’t argue this time. Because Margot was right. Things were different around the Manor. The pranks, if they were high school pranks, had turned ugly. Suspicious. Having someone keeping watch was smart.

  “We can’t even play hide-and-seek,” Katie moaned, looking out the window over Savannah’s printer to the courtyard below. “That man is there.”

  Savannah tried not to look, but Matt was a magnet and she had all the willpower of iron shavings.

  The gray T-shirt clinging to his back was nearly black with sweat, and his dark brown hair was wet and thick against his strong neck. Through her open window it seemed the wind carried his scent to her, sweat, sunshine and wood.

  The urge to close her eyes and inhale, to stick out her tongue just a little bit and taste the air that had touched him nearly overcame her.

  She’d been in control of these sudden cravings, this outrageous lust that had taken root in her body, but at some point midmorning, Matt had put on glasses.

  Glasses.

  Which added a spice to Matt that was infinitely appealing. At least to Savannah. The librarian in her liked bookish men. Bookish men with the shoulders and biceps of men used to doing hard work.

  This was worse than inappropriate. These ridiculous feelings she had for him were flat-out wrong. Wrong because he worked for her and wrong because he was a stranger and wrong because…well, just wrong.

  He was going to be staying here. Downstairs. A hundred yards from where she slept. It had been years since someone other than Katie and Margot had shared this house with her.

  She didn’t know if she was grateful for his presence or sick over it.

  “Yes, he is there,” she said. And oddly, the thought was comforting. As well as really unnerving. And a little exciting.

  He was a guard dog. A big one. And considering the events of the morning, she’d even say he was a good one.

  “I thought he was going to punch Officer Jones in the face,” bloodthirsty Katie said, her eyes sparkling. “Pow.” She illustrated a hard little punch with her closed fist.

  Savannah caught it and kissed the little knuckles, hard and smooth like diamonds under flesh. “It was a bit intense, wasn’t it?”

  Savannah had thought the same. As she’d stood there, watching Matt, a stranger to them, jump to their defense, she’d actually wished he would hit Officer Jones. Officer Jones who apparently still hadn’t gotten over his high school dumping at Vanessa’s hands.

  We just can’t get a break, she thought. The O’Neill curse was riding them particularly hard this summer. The vandalism, the break-in.

  Again she looked at Matt, wondering somehow if he was here to balance the scales for them. Something sweet for all the bitter they’d been eating.

  Honest to God help.

  It seemed unimaginable.

  They’d been alone, the three of them, for so long.

  There had to be a catch. The universe didn’t send blessings to the O’Neills without payment of some kind.

  “I’m going to go get something to eat,” Katie said, scrambling off Savannah’s numb knees.

  “Good idea,” she said, clearing her screen of the computer games they’d been playing. Work, she thought, it was time to focus on work. To clear away every other distraction and chase information across the World Wide Web.

  Knights Templar, she thought. Warriors and protectors. She’d start there.

  But her gaze strayed outside. To Matt.

  Her blood was beginning to buzz, the O’Neill curse manifesting itself in her the way it always did. Curiosity. God, it killed her every time. She could bury it, channel it into her job. Research every natural disaster in the southern hemisphere before the 1700s. Find every voodoo use for frog blood.

  But right now she wanted to go out there and research their new handyman. Why was he here? Why did he
want to stay? To help?

  She shook her head, gritted her teeth and fought down her urge to go outside and watch him. Talk to him.

  Chaining herself to her work, to her desk and the small oasis that was her life, Savannah, as she always did, suppressed what was O’Neill in her.

  But she had to wonder, feeling herself pull against the self-imposed bonds, how long could she hold out?

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. Matt could tell by the thickness and heft of the sunlight hitting what remained of the greenhouse—a cement pad. That’s it.

  He stripped off his gloves and wiped his dripping forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Useless, considering the saturation of that sleeve. The whole shirt, actually.

  Good God, it was hot. So hot the air was thick in his throat and prickles of heat crawled up and down his legs under sweat-soaked jeans.

  His socks were wet. It was disgusting.

  He hadn’t done this kind of labor since he’d worked for that civil engineer during college. His shoulders and back weren’t really enjoying it, but the effort felt good. Clean, somehow.

  There were worse ways to wait for Vanessa to show up, and it sure as hell beat watching the four walls of his condo close in around him.

  Scrap still needed to be carried out to the curb, but now he could get to work on making sure the back wall was safe—the farthest corner had slid apart into a loose heap.

  There was a kid living here, for crying out loud. And this courtyard was like a death trap.

  He felt eyes on the back of his neck and he sighed. Seriously, that little girl was getting to be a pest. Not that she did anything, or said anything. She simply watched him.

  It was creeping him out.

  “Katie—”

  “It’s Savannah.” Oh, man, was it ever. Even the sound of her voice sent blood pounding through his veins. He turned and saw her in the shadows under the cypress. “Has Katie been bothering you?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “She’s just curious.”

  “Curious.” Savannah actually smiled. “Is that another word for pain in the butt?”

  “I was thinking precocious.”

  Savannah nodded, calm and cool as if it wasn’t a million degrees outside and suddenly Matt felt every drop of sweat on his body. “Everything okay?” she asked. “You…ah…finding stuff?”

  He looked down at the ancient sledgehammer and even older hand tools that he’d found in the shed. An upgrade would be needed if he was going to get this courtyard done with the skin of his hands intact.

  “Sure,” he said. “But I think tomorrow I’ll go into town and get some supplies.”

  “You’ll need money?”

  He shook his head, guilt eating away at him. He was lying, and now he was taking their money. “Margot gave me a deposit.” Not that he would ever cash the check.

  She paused, standing there as if there was something more she wanted to say. It made him nervous, the way she simply stood, watching him, as though she saw right through his bad smoke screen. As though she knew why he was here.

  And frankly, he was dying to ask about Vanessa. The questions were beating against his teeth, but it was too soon. Savannah was so suspicious already, and there was no way he could bring the subject of her mother up and make it seem natural. He needed to bide his time, wait for his moment.

  “What’s your plan out here?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m going to start on the stone wall next.” He wiped his forehead and pointed over to the corner where the wall had crumbled.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  He glanced down at his arms and found a hundred little cuts and slices that he hadn’t even felt until this moment. “It’s fine. Glass.”

  Savannah looked as if she were going to argue, but then she nodded.

  The silence was thick. Uncomfortable. The tension more dense than the humid air.

  “There’s nothing to steal here, you know that, right?” she asked and he nearly dropped the shovel.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “If you’re thinking about robbing us, I’m just letting you know, in case you missed it, there’s nothing worth stealing. Hasn’t been for years.”

  There was something very sad behind her eyes, behind her words and he tried to resist it. “You always this forthright?”

  “Saves time,” she said, shrugging, and stepped over to the rock slide that made up the closest corner of the wall. She kicked at a small stone, sending it clattering across its larger brethren.

  “I’m not here to rob you,” he assured her. Forthright, sure. And suspicious as all get-out.

  “Then why are you here?” she asked, watching him through her thick fall of hair. Straight as glass that hair, like a curtain, and he got the distinct impression that she spent a lot of time watching people from behind it.

  “I thought we already covered this,” he asked, not wanting to go back over his lies. Not wanting to talk to her at all, actually. It made him feel slimy, less righteous and more like a liar. He didn’t need that.

  “Right.” She nodded and climbed up on another rock and turned to face him. Her daughter had done the exact same thing a few hours ago. This was a new side to Savannah, something he didn’t expect. Something playful. Young. “You’re a good Samaritan here to help Louisiana one crumbling courtyard at a time.”

  Her wit matched her sharp beauty and he liked that. Liked that more and more about her, but wondered what softness, what sadness that sharp wit protected. “Something like that. You want to help me move some of those rocks?”

  She shook her head, climbed up higher. “It’s what we’re paying you the big bucks for. You know, people leave their homes because they’re running from something.”

  Matt’s sweat dried up and went cold. “I assume you’re talking about me?”

  “A lot of the world—it’s basic human nature.”

  “What if I’m looking for something?” he asked, looking her right in the eye, gauging her reaction.

  Something electric filled the air between them. Something more dangerous than lies. More trouble than gems. Something hot and deep and compelling.

  I want her, he thought, suddenly hungry for the taste of her pink lips. And he realized, looking at her, that she was out here because she wanted him, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAVANNAH WAS A FLY IN AMBER. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Matt’s green eyes blazed and her flesh tingled, pulsed.

  She jerked, reining herself in. It was stupid to come out here. Total O’Neill stupidity. She should have known better, she should have stayed in her room and kept working.

  “Well,” she finally said, jumping down from the rocks on the other side of the pile, away from him. She turned her back, trying to get her bearings. Her breath. “Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it here.”

  “Tell me something.” His voice was deep and rich, like coffee. She loved coffee. “This thing with the cops? Why aren’t they taking this seriously?”

  “It’s an old grudge,” she said, turning around to give him the Cliff’s Notes. “O’Neills have run brothels, bootlegging operations and part of the underground railroad out of this house. Cops don’t like us and we’re not always fond of them.”

  “Your grandmother seems pretty law abiding,” he said.

  She laughed, lulled into a conversation she usually hated. “She’s the worst of them all. Well, not the worst, I suppose. My brother Tyler might be.”

  “What about your mother?”

  She supposed it was natural, that he would wonder about her mother, a bunch of women in a house together with one generation missing. But it didn’t mean she had to answer him.

  She picked up a rock and tossed it over the fence, ignoring him.

  “And your dad?” he asked. “Or are men not allowed?”

  “You’re here.”

  He nodded, smiled slightly. “I guess I should be glad.”

  The silence buzzed as if carrying the weight of all hi
s unasked questions, and she could actually feel him thinking. Wondering.

  “What was it that Tyler did to make things so bad?” he finally asked.

  “He dated the police chief’s daughter,” she said. “Broke her heart. For years, anything went wrong in town, anything at all and the first person they’d talk to was an O’Neill.”

  “That’s not fair,” he said, stiff and stern as though he knew what was fair in this world.

  “Whatever is?” she asked, facing him. After a moment he nodded, as if he understood that nothing was fair. Nothing at all. And once again she had that niggling feeling in her head that this man was not all that he seemed.

  Were they fools? she wondered. Trusting this man? This stranger?

  What would it cost them, in the end, to trust him now?

  “What about you?” he asked, his voice light, as though he was teasing her. “Did you get into trouble?”

  Her breath clogged in her throat, turned into a rock she had to try to swallow.

  “I’m an O’Neill,” she said, with a stiff shrug. “It’s what we do.”

  Savannah tried to step over the rocks and head toward the house and the safety of her room, but distracted and skittish, she tilted off balance.

  “Watch it,” Matt murmured, his hand a brand at her waist. She sucked in a quick breath and twisted away, stumbling slightly across the rocks, but she made it to solid ground.

  Her waist still burned, the flesh scorched and tingling.

  He was close, too close. She could see the black and brown in his eyes, flecks of gold.

  “I’m trusting you,” she said. “In my home. The home where my daughter sleeps. My grandmother. And it’s not an easy thing to do.”

  “I understand,” he said, as if he really did and wouldn’t that be something.

  “My family—” She started but didn’t know how to put it all into words—their past, her fears. She smiled but it felt broken at the corners, as if the weight of happiness, of hope, was simply too much to hold.