by Sharon Sala
But when he sat down beside her, the smile had reappeared and he shrugged off the worry. Tonight was bound to be awkward for them both. He didn’t know a thing about her except her name and where she worked. All in good time, he told himself as they pulled out of The Old South and headed into Savannah.
In a short span of time, he’d parked. When he took her by the hand and led her toward the Savannah River and the night lights of the busy clubs on the boundary of the riverwalk, she started to smile.
Threading his fingers through hers, he pointed down at the streets paved with ballast stone from old sailing ships. “Careful, it’s a rough walk.”
As long as he was holding her hand she wouldn’t have cared if the surface had been covered with burning coals. And then she happened to look up.
“Oh Tyler!”
The paddle wheeler, The Savannah River Queen, was decked out in full regalia. Lights were strung from prow to stern, beckoning the daring to come take a chance in the dark—on the river—at night.
“If you’d rather do something else…” he began, but her clutch on his arm told him no.
“I’ve never been on a riverboat!” The wonder in her voice made him smile.
The riverboat’s whistle was a reminder that haste would be wise. They quickly made their way into the crowd crossing the gangplank and were soon on board, lining the rail along with the other passengers as the boat began to pull slowly away from the shore.
His long arms came around her from behind as he braced them both from the bumping crowds ogling for pictures. She shivered with anticipation as his body cupped protectively against her back.
“Cold?”
The whisper in her ear was soft. But it wasn’t a chill that sent shivers flying up her spine, it was an instant flash fire of heat from the impression of his body against hers.
She shook her head. At this moment, speech was impossible.
The crowd soon dispersed from the rail, leaving them alone outside in the dark.
Tyler didn’t want to move. As far as he was concerned, the shadows they were in and their near isolation at the stern of the ship were perfect.
Lights from the ship shone down on the massive paddle wheel beside them, illuminating the churning wake it left behind as they moved through the Savannah’s murky depths. City noises were muted by the low rumble of the engine and the water spilling down the wheel. Sounds came out of the darkness, only to be lost as they bounced across the river from one shore to the other.
Amelia was transfixed by the magic. Impulsively she turned in his arms to point out a passing dolphin highlighted by the ship’s lights when the expression on his face blanked the thought from her mind.
Liquid blue and intense with emotion, his eyes glittered darkly as he looked down upon her. With a sigh, he lifted his hands, feathering them up her arms and circling the elegant length of her neck, then combing them through her hair. The ship rocked slightly as they crossed the wake of a passing ship. Amelia staggered and then she was in his arms.
She heard a groan. Unaware of whether it came from him or her, she leaned forward. And then it was too late for second thoughts as his mouth covered her lips and he took what he needed to survive.
Molding herself to his demands, she was still the first to break their kiss and the embrace. Chin resting on his shirtfront, inhaling the rich, musky cologne of the man himself, Amelia felt the contours of his body as it began to change. A little excited, and a little embarrassed, she froze in place.
Tyler was hard as hell and could tell by the way she was standing that she knew it.
“I’m not going to apologize for that,” he warned, and took a reluctant step back.
Amelia looked up. The blue-green in her eyes had darkened to a deeper shade of jade. Breath came in short, quick gasps as she desperately tried to regain her sense of self, and then she managed a smile.
“You’d better not,” she said, trying to mask the hitch in her voice by a nervous laugh. “So, what’s next? Is this where I throw myself into the deep dark water, or did you have something a little dryer in mind?”
Tyler laughed. The sound boomed out across the water, deep and unexpected. Amelia hugged herself with delight at the pure joy of the moment.
“Ah, God, she’s not only pretty, she’s witty, too. How in hell am I supposed to fight this feeling I have for you, Amber, love?”
Love! Amelia’s smile was lost in the shadows. “Why Mr. Savage, you’re not to supposed to fight it, you’re supposed to enjoy it.”
With a grin, he hustled her inside to the lounge where there were lights and people and something to drink that would hopefully put out the fire she’d started in his belly.
Reluctant to give up his tenuous hold on her presence, Tyler stared blindly at the blinking sign proclaiming the whereabouts of The Old South. He didn’t want to let her go. Not like this. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded.
The expression in her eyes was close to panic. “No! I already told you, it’s impossible. Besides, I promised Raelene I’d ride home with her.”
He gripped the steering wheel with fierce determination as he struggled with a new set of worries. She was too adamant for his peace of mind. A thought that had surfaced more than once tonight began to reoccur.
“If you told me the truth about being single, then why are you so damn afraid for me to see where you live?”
She gasped. “What kind of a person do you think I am? I would never cheat on the man I loved,” she muttered angrily, all the while acknowledging his right to be wary. “I’ll say this once, and then I’ll never say it again. I’m not, nor have I ever been, married.”
He sagged with relief, his voice filled with regret. “Damn it, Amber, it’s just that I don’t want this night to end, and if I took you home, it would be an excuse to spend a little extra time with you, that’s all.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” she reminded him. And then she sighed as she glanced at her watch. “Or I should say, later today.”
Tyler saw the weary droop to her lips. Only moments ago they’d been smiling. It was his fault that he’d wiped out the night’s joy with his jealousy and his distrust, yet it was obvious that Amber had secrets. Maybe when she was ready she’d share them with him, he thought, as he reminded himself that tonight was only their first date. The first, he hoped, of many. With a sigh of regret, he looked up.
“Here comes your ride.”
Raelene came bursting out the back door of the club, waving and smiling as she made her way toward them.
Amelia shivered as she slipped her hand across his knee, longing for one last touch. “I guess I’d better go.”
He caught her hand and gave it one last squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m the one who’s at fault.” More than you can ever know.
“Tonight was wonderful,” Tyler said. “Thank you, lady, for finally giving in.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I couldn’t help it. You’re persistent. You’re hardheaded. And,” her eyes twinkled as she bounded out of the truck before he had time to object. “You’re sexy as all get out, Tyler Savage. What’s a woman to do?”
Stunned by her words, he watched until she and her laughter disappeared into the night.
Reliving the night’s events, it took him twice as long as usual to get home. He missed the turnoff to Tulip once, and the road leading to his farm twice, but finally made it in one weary piece.
Cursing softly beneath his breath, he pulled up in front of his house and turned off the headlights. Even in the dark, miles away from her presence, he could still smell her perfume—hear her laughter—and feel that silky red dress beneath his hands.
He was one giant ache as he got out of his truck and walked slowly up the steps. The front door opened at the twist of a key. The house was dark and quiet, empty and lonesome. For the first time since his folks had retired and moved to Florida, he wished for the sound of their voices.
As he locked the door behind him, his dog bayed once from behind the house. He smiled at the long, lonesome sound.
“Hell of a time to decide to be a watchdog, boy,” he muttered, as he took the solitary trek to his bed. “The thief has already come and gone. And she took my heart with her when she left.”
Maurice the tomcat came home just as Raelene let Amelia out at the stop sign on the corner. Effie heard the familiar belch of that trollop’s car and frowned, fluffing her pillow as she tried to get comfortable again. At her age, it was becoming more difficult.
A mournful, yowling cry echoed through the second-story window and sent her bounding down the stairs as quickly as her old bones would take her. A dog began to bark in a yard two houses over, an echo of her precious Maurice’s announcement of arrival.
She opened the door and scooped the wily old cat into her arms. A deep, throaty purr tickled her nose as she buried her face into the sleek, familiar coat. “Maurice, you bad, bad boy, where have you been?”
And then the sight of Amelia’s slim figure hurrying barefoot through the alley saved Maurice from further tongue-lashing. Effie clutched the cat against her flat, droopy breasts as she hissed accusingly to no one but herself.
She missed nothing of the form-fitting red dress, the shoes Amelia was clutching in her hands or the coat draped across her arm. “And where have you been, missy, as if I didn’t know! You should be ashamed!”
Maurice purred and dug his claws lightly into the front of her nightgown as she held him to her shoulder. With a twist of her wrist, she turned the lock on her door and started back up the stairs. “Yes indeedy…you should both be ashamed.”
Across the way, Amelia slid into bed with a sigh of relief. Tonight had been hectic…traumatic…frightening…and worth every minute of sheer terror she’d had to endure. What had happened afterward had been the stuff of which dreams are made.
She rolled the pillow into a soft little lump beneath her chin and closed her eyes. Somewhere in her heart, an old wound from the young man who’d cared too little about her finally had been closed, sealed and healed by a big man’s laugh and the touch of his hands as well as the satisfaction of knowing that if she’d only let it happen, she would be loved.
But the difficulties of that fantasy coming true were nearly insurmountable, and she knew it. Tonight, for a short period of time, Amelia had seen heaven through Amber’s eyes. She didn’t know what it was going to take to let it happen again, but she’d be damned in hell if she didn’t give it another try.
A soft, gentle snort drifted beneath the crack in Amelia’s bedroom door. She smiled to herself as the moon began its wayward journey toward the horizon. Aunt Witty would die if she knew she snored.
“Why, Amelia!” Wilhemina’s exclamation of shock startled Rosemary into slopping her coffee onto the damask tablecloth.
Rosemary frowned. “Willy, I do declare! You startled me half out of my wits and made me spill my coffee!”
“That’s frightening, Sister. You only had half your wits to begin with.”
Amelia made a fist of her hands beneath the table and gave what she hoped was an innocent smile as Rosemary took offense at the slight to her mental acuity.
“I don’t think an insult at this hour of the day is in order,” she muttered, picking at a straggling lock that had escaped the shaky knot she’d made of her hair.
“Here, Aunt Rosie,” Amelia said gently. “Let me do that.”
Rosemary smiled as her niece deftly rewound her long gray hair back into the Gibson Girl hairdo she’d worn for most of her life, sliding the pins in place with practiced hands.
“My word!” Rosemary exclaimed as Amelia reseated herself at the table. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so…why you positively…” She sighed, patted her throat, and shoved the butter toward Amelia. “I’m at a loss for words.”
“That’s a first,” Wilhemina muttered harshly, ignoring her sister’s frown of annoyance.
Wilhemina was in shock. She knew what Rosemary had been trying to say. Amelia positively glowed. That’s what. And in her estimation, glowing was not ladylike.
“Amelia Ann, what have you done with yourself?”
Amelia ducked her head, relishing the weight of her hair brushing against her neck, instead of being wound tightly onto the top of her head like a little brown crown.
She scooped a pat of butter for her biscuit and pretended disinterest. “Oh, I read in a periodical the other day where people who have extremely long hair sometimes suffer head and neck pains due to the weight of the hair so I thought I’d try wearing mine down for a day or two and see what happens.”
Wilhemina frowned. Rosemary’s watery blue eyes opened wide, waiting for the other shoe to fall. She was also surprised about the change in her niece’s appearance, but she loved every minute of her sister Willy’s disapproval. As far as Rosemary was concerned, Willy disapproved of entirely too much.
“Do go on, my dear,” Rosemary urged.
Amelia nodded, pretending ignorance of the upheaval her appearance had caused, when in actuality it had taken her the better part of fifteen minutes just to get up the nerve to come downstairs.
“As I was saying, you know how often I have headaches, and you don’t want me to cut my hair, so…”
“You read too many trashy novels, that’s what does it,” Wilhemina accused.
Amelia ignored the accusation. “I have it secured very firmly away from my face. I don’t think it will get in the way at all, do you, Aunt Witty? Besides, this way I get to use that pretty tortoise shell clasp you gave me on my twenty-first birthday, remember? I think you said it belonged to your mother.”
Wilhemina sniffed. Amelia had her there. She opted for new grounds for complaint. “What I want to know is where did you get that dress?”
Amelia looked down in planned surprise. She knew that the color would throw a monkey wrench into Aunt Witty’s idea of sedate, but she’d been ready for this question, too.
“Oh this! You remember how you told me the other day that I needed to get some new shirtwaists? This was on sale. I saved twenty dollars.”
Wilhemina frowned. She hated to argue with being thrifty.
“I love the color,” Rosemary gushed. “Do you think they have one in my size?”
“You don’t wear prints,” Wilhemina accused. “You always wear pastels.”
“Only because you pick out my clothes,” Rosemary accused as her voice rose an octave. She pointed at Amelia. “I like hers. I always liked paisley prints. Momma had a scarf once in blue paisley. Remember? I like Amelia’s dress better that this old pale pink one.” Her lower lip puffed out in rebellious silence.
Amelia sighed. She’d known that coming home with a paisley print, rich in the colors of fall, might cause problems. The deep earth tones in browns, and the deepest of amber and green had immediately caught her eye. But she hadn’t expected it to cause a fight between the sisters. She’d expected to be the one who caught heck.
“I’ll check on my lunch hour, Aunt Rosie,” she offered. “But I think this one would be too dark for your delicate coloring. Maybe if they have one in your size in lighter colors it would be better. What do you think?”
Rosemary positively preened and then agreed. “Momma always said I was delicate.”
“Pooh!” Wilhemina muttered, out of sorts at being left out of the conversation. “You were never delicate…lazy maybe, but never delicate.”
Before the biscuits and butter began to fly, Amelia intervened. “I’ll check on the dress, Aunt Rosie. And I love being able to wear your mother’s clasp, Aunt Witty. It will make my day!”
She leaned over, giving each of the aunts a quick kiss on the cheek as she made a dash for the door. Moments later she was in the old blue Chrysler and backing out of the drive. Tulip’s Public Library awaited.
Four
“Hurry,” Amelia called. “We’ll be late for services.”
Her aunts came down the stairs in a wave o
f old lavender, rose water and liniment; corset-bound and ruffled, each clutched Bibles against their bosoms, their hair curled and sprayed to perfection.
Wilhemina gave Amelia’s choice of clothing the once-over and sniffed approvingly as Amelia retucked her butter-yellow blouse back into a white pleated skirt. “Do you have your Bible?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She pointed to the hall table where it and her purse were waiting for an exit. “Come on, Aunt Rosie. I don’t want to walk in late again like we did last Sunday. Everyone was already singing when we got to our pew.”
The Beauchamp pew was second from the front on the lefthand side, just as it had been since 1899 when Tulip’s Southern Baptist Church had been dedicated. At that time, Wilbur Beauchamp had been a young boy of sixteen, and would never have dreamed that he’d one day father the two elderly females now dawdling in the drawing room of the old family home.
“I can’t find my hat,” Rosemary mumbled. “I had it just the other day. I wonder if I left…”
“It’s in the dining room on the sideboard,” Wilhemina said with a long-suffering sigh. “I found it outside on the porch swing yesterday afternoon. I swear, Sister, if you had a brain, you’d be dangerous.”
Amelia rescued the wide-brimmed, flower bedecked hat and deftly pinned it in place over her aunt Rosie’s bountiful hairdo, then rebuttoned the top three buttons on her aunt’s dress to take out the kink. She winked at the little woman’s complacent smile as she slipped her handbag over her arm.
During the past three years, Rosemary Beauchamp had become increasingly forgetful. Amelia didn’t want to think of the implications of such behavior. Right now, she simply wanted to be seated before the pastor began preaching the sermon.
“I’ll be waiting in the car,” Wilhemina announced, and walked briskly through the open doorway as if going to war.
“I think I’ll drive,” Rosemary muttered, as she tucked a curl beneath her hat.
Amelia tried not to gape as she grabbed for her own purse and Bible and hustled her little aunt from the porch. “Why don’t you let me drive, dear? We’re in kind of a hurry this morning, don’t you think?”
