Close to Home

by Jenna Bennett

  When trouble hits too close to home...

  Savannah Martin has always been a good girl, doing what was expected and fully expecting life to fall into place in its turn. But when her perfect husband turns out to be a lying, cheating slimeball - and bad in bed to boot - Savannah kicks the jerk to the curb and embarks on life on her own terms. With a new apartment, a new career, and a brand new outlook on life, she's all set to take the world by storm. If only the world would stop throwing her curveballs...

  Savannah's late. The kind of late that comes with midnight feedings and the pitter-patter of little feet. And while it's a circumstance that should make everyone happy - now she can finally settle down and marry Todd Satterfield, the way everyone's been hoping and praying - it isn't Todd's baby. And Rafe Collier, whose baby it is, didn't sign on for fatherhood. Savannah hasn't seen him or heard from him for two months. So what's a girl to do? Keep the baby and become a single mother, or terminate the pregnancy and pretend it never happened?

  Add in the murder of Savannah's sister-in-law - Dix's wife Sheila - the trial of a murderess Todd's prosecuting - a woman who just happens to be Sheila's friend Marley - and the disappearance of Rafe's twelve year old son David - the kid he never knew he had! - and things get complicated fast. And there is worse to come: When Rafe comes back to Nashville to help look for David, and learns that Savannah's pregnant, things do not work out the way Savannah hopes. In the end, she's left with nothing she wanted and a whole lot of trouble she didn't, and for once, Rafe's not there to save the day.

  Chapter 1

  When Rafe Collier came back from the dead, I was late.

  Not the kind of late that mother always drummed into me is rude and inconsiderate, because it makes other people feel I don’t value their time or consider them as important as myself. In mother’s book of Southern etiquette, making someone wait is a sin of equal magnitude with eating dessert on a date or wearing white shoes after Labor Day.

  I wasn’t that kind of late. In fact, if mother had realized what kind of late I was, she might well have disowned me.

  Rafe wasn’t that kind of dead, either. I knew that. (Except for eight pretty bad hours when I’d thought he’d really died, before I realized it was all part of a big, elaborate hoax the Nashville PD and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation had cooked up.)

  See, earlier this fall, someone had sent a contract killer named Jorge Pena after Rafe. Jorge was very good at his job—this was per Rafe, whose opinion I tended to trust on things like that—and when word came down from the Sweetwater sheriff that Rafe was dead, I’d believed it. It wasn’t until eight hours later—eight horrible, interminable hours—that I learned the truth: Rafe wasn’t dead, Jorge was. The powers that be (and they didn’t include Sheriff Satterfield in Sweetwater) had decided that Rafe should take Jorge’s place, to try to figure out who was paying Jorge to kill him. The fact that there was a slight resemblance between them—both tall, dark and dangerous—only helped with the illusion. Rafe had left Nashville for parts unknown six weeks ago, and while he was away, I’d realized I was late.

  As in, I should have gotten my period, and didn’t.

  Yes, I was that kind of late. The kind that results in morning sickness and the pitter-patter of little feet.

  “I have a problem,” I told Dix.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” my brother answered, his voice as clear in my ear as if he were sitting right next to me instead of a couple of counties over. “What’s your problem?”

  The emphasis told me I wasn’t the only one with problems. Maybe our sister Catherine had called him to moan and groan. Or maybe Todd had. Dix’s best friend, assistant D.A. Todd Satterfield, had probably called to whine about me, and about the fact that I hadn’t yet accepted his proposal of marriage.

  Or maybe something was going on with Dix himself. Although what kind of problem could Dix possibly have, with his perfect wife, his perfect children, and his perfect career?

  Still, I’ve been trained well. I asked. Making sure my voice was sympathetic. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing you can help me with right now. Except maybe by giving me a distraction. What sort of problem, sis?”

  “I’m...” I cleared my throat, “...pregnant.”

  Dix was quiet for a second. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I could have sworn I heard you say you’re pregnant.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You did say you’re pregnant.”

  He waited. When I still didn’t speak, he added, “Well, that did it. I’m distracted. Are you sure?”

  Of course I was sure. It wasn’t the kind of thing I’d toss around if I weren’t. I’d bought six different over-the-counter pregnancy tests, all different brands, two of each so as to safeguard myself against any mistakes, and all six had come out positive, one after the other. I was definitely pregnant.

  “Well, are congratulations in order?” Dix asked. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t sound happy.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel.” Other than scared out of my mind.

  “Because of the...” he lowered his voice, “miscarriage?”

  I’d had a miscarriage some three years ago, while I’d been married to Bradley Ferguson. I had told Catherine about it, and she had told mom, and at some point I guess someone had told Dix. It wasn’t me. It’s not the sort of thing you discuss with your brother. “How do you know about that?”

  “Catherine told Sheila.” His voice changed subtly on his wife’s name, but I didn’t pursue it. In retrospect I realize I should have, but at the time I had other things on my mind.

  “That’s part of it,” I answered. “It was not a good experience.”

  Understatement of the year. Bradley and I had lasted less than two years before we called it quits, so I guess it had been for the best really, but at the time it had been difficult.

  “This’ll make Todd happy, anyway,” Dix said, trying to look on the bright side. “Now you’ll have to marry him.”

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t bring myself to come right out and say it. “It isn’t Todd’s baby.”

  And then I didn’t have to. When I didn’t say anything, Dix read my silence. His voice changed. “Oh, sis. What have you done?”

  “Something stupid?” I don’t know why I posed it as a question. I’d been stupid, no doubt about it.

  “I’d say. You slept with him? And you didn’t make sure you were protected? What were you thinking?”

  “That’s kind of the problem,” I muttered. “I wasn’t.”

  I’d been feeling. Needing. Enjoying. But not thinking. Too wrapped up in the moment, I hadn’t given the possibility of getting pregnant a thought until I didn’t get my period on time. And Dix was right. I’d been an idiot. It had been bad enough to sleep with Rafe in the first place, when I knew we’d never have any kind of real relationship, but to do it without protection...!

  “That’s obvious,” Dix said.

  My voice was tiny. “So what do I do now?”

  “You’re asking me?” I could picture him, running his fingers through his sandy blond hair, making it stand straight up. Fisting his hands in it in frustration and yanking. “All right. You don’t have many options that I can see. There’s not much chance you can pass this kid off as Todd’s...”

  “No.” Any baby Rafe and I made would have its father’s dark hair, dark eyes, and golden skin. My blonde and blue-eyed fairness might lighten things up a little, like a liberal dash of milk in coffee, but we’re still talking café au lait, not plain vanilla. And since Todd is as fair-haired and blue-eyed as I am, there was no way we’d be able to explain something like that away. Or like he’d want to.

  “God, sis,” Dix said, as if he were looking at the picture in my mind and frea
king out all over again, “what were you thinking?”

  The thing is, the picture was beautiful. A little baby... girl? boy?... with big dark eyes, thick black lashes, and a big toothless smile, holding on to my finger—

  “Obviously marrying him is out,” Dix said, popping the bubble.

  I nodded. Yes, and not only because he hadn’t asked. He probably didn’t want to. No, scratch that—he definitely didn’t want to. He’d been upfront about it. He wanted me in his bed, but he didn’t want a relationship. Not that he’d said so, but surely if he had, I would have heard something from him at least once in the past six weeks. The whole experience must not have been as mind-blowing for him as it had been for me. He’d achieved his goal of bedding Savannah Martin, and now he was on to the next woman. While I was here, barefoot—I was painting my toenails—and pregnant. Damn him.

  “And I can’t imagine you want to be a single mother,” Dix continued, twisting the knife.

  I shook my head again. I knew he couldn’t see me, but I couldn’t help the kneejerk reaction.

  “So I guess that leaves the two As. Adoption or abortion.”

  And there it was. Carrying the baby to term and giving it away to someone else, or getting rid of it now, before it developed into a real problem.

  There were issues inherent in these scenarios too, of course. While healthy white newborns are a hot commodity on the adoption market, this baby wouldn’t precisely be white. LaDonna Collier had been a blue-eyed blonde like me, but Rafe’s father had been black, and Rafe looked, if not specifically African-American, at least far from Caucasian, which might make things more difficult. Although not impossible. There was sure to be someone out there who’d be happy to have Rafe’s baby. Someone who’d love it and take care of it. A mixed couple, maybe, who couldn’t conceive. Or just someone braver than me, who wouldn’t care what people thought. After all, any baby of Rafe’s would be beautiful. Couldn’t help but be. And having gone through a miscarriage myself, I had all the sympathy in the world for people who couldn’t conceive. But if I carried the baby for nine months and then gave birth to it, would I be able to give it up? Or would I get attached, in spite of my fears?

  And as for deliberately terminating the pregnancy, I wasn’t sure I could do that, either. It’d be the easiest solution, certainly, it was just—

  “Did you tell him?” Dix interrupted my train of thought.

  God, no. “I just realized it a few days ago.” And although I could have gotten hold of him if I really wanted to, through Detective Grimaldi with the Nashville police, I wasn’t yet sure I wanted him to know.

  “I don’t suppose it would have mattered,” Dix said judiciously. “After all, there’s nothing he could have done about it. Your body, your choice. Although if he’d told his grandmother...”

  “What do you mean, there’s nothing he can do?” He could do a hell of a lot, as far as I was concerned.

  Dix was silent for a moment. “Who are we talking about here, sis?”

  I took the phone away from my ear to stare at it, and put it back. “What do you mean, who are we talking about? Who do you think we’re talking about? Rafe, of course.”

  “Right,” Dix said. “Rafe Collier. Isn’t he dead?”

  Oh... shit.

  “Darn,” I said faintly.

  “He’s not dead? Sis?”

  I drew breath and blew it out, thinking about knocking my head against the coffee table. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

  Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Lying wouldn’t do any good; besides, Dix could always tell when I did. I might as well tell the truth. And beg him not to pass it on.

  “No, he isn’t dead. He’s undercover. But you can’t tell anyone, Dix. You’ve got to promise me that you won’t. If word gets out that he survived that nutcase they sent to kill him, they’ll just send someone else. And I don’t want him to die.”

  My voice shook. I could still remember that horrible feeling I got when Dix told me that Todd had told him that the sheriff had said that Rafe was dead. No doubt Dix remembered, as well.

  He was silent for a moment. “Are you in love with this guy, sis?”

  “Of course not,” I said, grabbing a strand of hair and twirling it around my finger.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “No, I’m not.” And even if I were, he couldn’t possibly tell from two counties away.

  “Is your finger turning blue?”

  “Why would my finger be turning blue?” I unwound the hair and inspected the finger. Not blue.

  “You always play with your hair when you’re lying,” Dix said.

  “I’m not lying.” I leaned back on the sofa pretending I hadn’t been doing exactly what he’d accused me of doing. “God, Dix, have you lost your mind? How could you possibly think I’d fall in love with Rafe Collier? Mother would kill me!”

  “You forget,” Dix said, “I saw your face last month, when you thought he’d died. And don’t bother trying to tell me that you knew, at that point, that he was just faking it, because I won’t believe you. You thought he was dead, and you had a meltdown.”

  “It wasn’t a meltdown.” I’d kept myself from becoming a blubbering mess, and as far as I was concerned, that was a major achievement, when all I’d wanted to do was break down in hysterics.

  “You also told me you’d fallen for him.”

  “A little. I said a little. And that was when I thought he was dead.”

  “Right,” Dix said. “Relax, sis. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone. This isn’t something I’d want to get around.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Dix said. “You’re up there in Nashville. You can turn off your phone. I live with these people. And if word got out that you’re pregnant, and with Rafe Collier’s baby—oh, and by the way, he’s not really dead after all, so guess what, he’ll be around, practically part of the family—can you imagine the flak I’d get?”

  I could imagine, only too well. I suppressed a shudder.

  “So no,” Dix said, “until you figure out what you’re going to do, I won’t be saying a word to anyone. And when you do figure it out, assuming there’s anything to tell at that point, you’re telling them.”

  Fair enough.

  “So Collier doesn’t know.” Dix picked up the conversation where we’d left off several tangents ago.

  I shook my head, although he couldn’t see it. “He left that same night. And I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “He seduced you and left town and he didn’t even leave a number? I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Please don’t.” And not just because if he tried, chances were Rafe would kill Dix instead. “It’s not his fault.”

  “Whose fault is it?”

  I sighed. “It’s mine. I should have been more careful. He was always upfront about what he wanted, and it wasn’t anything permanent.”

  “I should hope not,” Dix said darkly, “because if he offers to marry you, I want you to say no.”

  I couldn’t help it, I giggled. Weakly, but it was a giggle. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  God, could you picture it? Rafe Collier facing mother over the Thanksgiving Day turkey for the next thirty years...?

  And then, to my absolute mortification, the giggle turned to a sob, and then another. “I don’t know what to do, Dix. I can’t keep the baby—what will people think?—but I don’t think I can give it away, either. Not after carrying it for nine months. I’ll get attached, you know I will. And aborting it—just because I’m too much of a coward to keep it—seems wrong.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him,” Dix said.

  It was the last thing I expected him to say, and for a second I just sat there, stunned. Then—

  “Are you crazy? I can’t tell him! What if he says he wants me to keep it?”

  “He can’t force you,” Dix pointed out. “It’s your body.”

  “But it’s his baby.” Our baby. A
nd God, the thought of that—! “He has the right...”

  “He doesn’t have the right to tell you what to do. Legally—”

  I interrupted him. Mother taught me that interrupting is wrong, but I couldn’t keep it in. “Legally, schmegally. Come on, Dix. Morally and ethically, he has the right to an opinion. And I have an obligation to take what he says into account.”

  “I always suspected Bradley Ferguson wasn’t the only reason you dropped out of law school,” Dix grumbled. “With an attitude like that, you’d never make it as a lawyer. Legally, it’s your body and you can do what you want with it.”

  “But here in the real world, I offered him my body, and he put a baby inside it, and that means he gets a say in what happens to that baby.”

  “If you tell him,” Dix said.

  “Right. If I tell him.”

  “And right now he’s gone. Any idea when he’s coming back?”

  “None.” Could be tomorrow, could be never. He’d already been gone longer than he thought he’d be. Before he left, he’d told me he expected it to take a few weeks, maybe a month at the most. It had been almost two.

  “Then I suggest you think fast,” Dix said. “How far along are you? No more than two months, right? You’ll start showing in another month or two, if you haven’t terminated by then, and I think you owe your family an explanation before it gets to that point. Not to mention Todd.”

  Todd. My brother’s best friend, the man who wanted to marry me. The idea of having to face Todd and tell him I was pregnant—and with Rafe Collier’s baby!—made my head hurt. For that reason alone, it was tempting to end the pregnancy now.

  And mother... how could I face my mother and tell her how far I’d strayed from the straight and narrow? She’d be disappointed in me, and that disappointment would cut deeper than any harsh words she could ever use.

  Yet at the same time, a small, rebellious part of me said, it was my life, wasn’t it? I’d spent the first twenty five years of it doing everything I was told. First by mother and dad, then by Bradley. I’d thought, if I toed the line and did everything perfectly, that I’d have the life I’d always dreamed of. That was until I realized that Bradley had been unfaithful, and that my perfect husband was far from perfect, and my perfect marriage was a shambles. So I’d dumped Bradley and gone out on my own instead. Refusing to run home to Sweetwater with my tail between my legs, determined to make it on my own terms. And now look where I was. But at least this mess was of my own making and no one else’s. There was something to be said for that.