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“How unusual,” she said, almost as if delighted.
She endured the man’s study before he said, “Seeing my duty’s done, I’ll be going.” He turned and moved toward the door. She made no attempt to stop him.
She sat, staring at the rectangle in her hand. Finally she stood and walked to her desk, even now not allowing her steps to coddle her throbbing toes. She sat down at her desk. The chair was warm from Cash’s heat. She pulled open the top drawer, removed the silver letter opener and slit the envelope. She slid out a folded sheet of good heavy bond, unfolded it, read the handwriting in straight lines across its width, folded the note exactly as it had been and slipped it back inside the envelope. Laying the envelope on the desk, she reached for the microcassette recorder she’d set on the desk earlier. She punched Record.
“Groom?”
“Gone.”
Click.
HER PARENTS’ red Cadillac was already in front of the Walkers’ brick Georgian when Savannah arrived that evening to discuss “the McCormick matter,” as the situation had been discreetly termed. She reached the library where liquor and coffee were being served along with civility, and where, at this moment, Franklin Walker was pointing his brandy at his oldest son.
“You’re home not even twenty-four hours, and your brother takes off in the middle of the night without letting anyone know where he’s going or for how long.”
Stretched out in a corner club chair, Cash sipped his own drink, his enjoyment undisturbed. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“He did leave a note.” Savannah moved into the high-ceiling room. She waved her hand to tell her future mother-in-law to stay seated and helped herself to the coffee set up on the sideboard.
“A note.” Franklin’s hard gaze stayed on Cash. “That you delivered.”
Pauline Walker set her china cup on the coffee table only to pick it up again. “What your father is trying to say, dear, is that younger brothers often idolize their older siblings and are easily influenced. McCormick adored you.” Pauline’s use of the past tense did not go unnoticed by Savannah nor, she suspected, by anyone else in the room.
Cash’s voice softened as he spoke to his mother. “McCormick’s been a big boy for a long time now.”
Wistfulness stole into Pauline’s features as if she dreamed of a carefree past. A past, Savannah knew, few, including the Walkers, had been privileged to. Pauline stood as if unable to sit still any longer and smoothed her skirt repeatedly. “I won’t go through this again,” she announced. She moved to where Savannah stood stirring cream into her coffee.
Savannah’s father, sitting near the unlit fireplace, caught his daughter’s eye, raised his empty glass to her. She picked up the crystal decanter near the silver service.
“Do you know how much money is tied up in this wedding next weekend?” Jack Sweetfield asked. Savannah poured. Her father downed his drink in one long swallow. Savannah poured another. “Helluva time for your boy to take a powder.” His sharp northeast accent, which twenty-five years in genteel Georgia had failed to erase, thickened with agitation. “What kind of stunt is this to pull a week before tying the knot?”
“Actually, the wedding is eleven days away,” Savannah corrected.
“Do you know the money already spent for this little affair?” her father repeated.
Pauline’s delicately lined lips pursed as she carried the silver coffeepot to Savannah’s mother on the settee. A flush appeared on Belle’s cheeks.
“Has anyone tried calling him again?” Savannah’s mother attempted to direct the subject away from her husband’s blunt observations.
“His cell phone is turned off.” Pauline poured fresh coffee. “And he must be using cash because no charges have been reported.”
“Sounds to me like a man who doesn’t want to be found.” Jack finished his drink.
“What if something has happened to him?” Belle wondered. Pauline paused. Her eyes, a subtle pewter shade, stared down at Belle. Savannah watched her mother’s blush deepen, knew she felt raw and unfinished before the real thing.
Franklin turned to his oldest son. “If you had anything to do with this…”
Pauline laid a discreet hand on her husband’s arm as she passed with the coffeepot.
Franklin eyed his heir. “What did you and your brother talk about last night when you went out?”
Cash settled back in his chair, no reaction on his face. “The Braves, the Falcons, the Broncos.” He turned his far-too-handsome face to where Savannah stood. “Miss Sweetfield.” His green eyes met hers as if they were accomplices. She knew he was waiting for her to look away—evidence of how little he did know about her despite his claim of McCormick’s confidences.
“Did McCormick mention anything about this? Talk about taking off, getting away for a few days?” Franklin interrogated.
Cash lazily swung his head to his father. Despite his composed expression, tension burned in the space between the two men, seeming to bind them even as it forced them apart.
“We did talk about my adventures.” The sarcasm was implicit. “He mentioned he’d like to travel more if he had the time, perhaps someday visit my lodge. I told him, ‘Any time. Any time at all.’”
An expletive came from the senior Walker. Savannah didn’t have to look at Pauline to know her lips tightened further. Instead she watched Cash’s strong profile. Don’t smile, she silently warned. Too late. The corners of that fascinatingly mobile mouth lifted.
Franklin stabbed the air with his cigar. “Tell me this, son—”
Savannah heard more sarcasm, glimpsed something raw come into Cash’s eyes.
“—why would a man who has never done an irresponsible, foolhardy, childish—”
A wild torment flared in the unguarded green of Cash’s eyes, then, just as abruptly, it extinguished. His gaze became cold and hard as stone.
“—thing in his life, decide to do so now?”
Cash raised his drink to his father. “Obviously it was time.”
Franklin leaned down to stub out his cigar viciously, but, as he raised his head, Savannah saw where his son had learned to mask his feelings.
“The boy’s probably halfway across the country by now,” Savannah’s father told the group. “He’ll probably be shooting craps and eyeing whores in Vegas by morning.”
“Jack!”
Savannah’s father ignored his wife’s warning. “The million-dollar question, which I’m sure the bills are beginning to tally, is what are we going to do about it?”
“Let him go,” Savannah stated.
All gazes converged on her. She set down her coffee cup. “McCormick is a big boy, and if he decided he needs a few days away, maybe do something out of the ordinary by heading out in the middle of the night to some place different he’s never seen, some place such as his brother’s Colorado home…” She looked at Cash, trying to spy confirmation or denial but saw only a veiled interest. She turned back to the others. “The least we can do is respect his wishes. Let him go.”
Belle shifted on the settee. “But it is a mite close to the wedding.”
Savannah smiled at her mother. “Exactly.” She smiled at them all. “McCormick is less than two weeks away from taking one of the biggest steps of his life. Is it any wonder he’s acting a tad irrationally?” She paused for effect. “He’s scared.”
“What about you?”
Cash’s question came so swift and unexpected, it might have thrown one who hadn’t learned long ago that decisiveness and resolve could cover a multitude of insecurities.
“Are you scared?”
It was the first time anyone had asked her about her feelings. Feelings just waiting to waylay her.
“No,” she answered with unflappable faith.
It wasn’t until Franklin declared, “Cold feet,” that she tore her gaze away from Cash.
“Exactly,” she agreed with her fiancé’s father. “Lots of people have second thoughts, last-minute doubts right before their wedding. Everyone here can probably tell me a story about a similar situation.” As soon as she said the words, she realized her blunder. She swallowed hard as if to take them back. The others were discreet enough or, as she sensed in Franklin’s case, disgusted enough not to look at Cash.
“How ’bout you, Daddy?” She tried to shift the focus. “You can’t tell me you didn’t have a moment’s hesitation?”
Her father looked to where her mother sat and Savannah knew she’d made another mistake. Her beautiful mother had always been the center of her father’s life, followed by his business, work, and finally, in varying degrees, his children. Savannah, with hard work crowned by her celebrated engagement, had eventually found herself fitting in there somewhere.
Her father’s gaze locked with her mother’s. Like many of his gender and generation, he was not comfortable with open displays of affection, but one look at the man at this moment and it was clear—Jack Sweetfield had never had a heartbeat of doubt about his marriage.
“No. Not at all,” Her father confirmed.
An unusual melancholy rose inside Savannah. She pushed it aside. “Exception to every rule, no?” She smiled her most-assured smile. “My point is,” she sat down and folded her hands in her lap as if calm, “when you consider the circumstances, McCormick is actually acting in a very predictable manner. I mean wedding jitters are more the norm than not, correct? So, when all is said and done, his decision to take a few days and sort everything out is nothing to worry about. In fact, it’s a healthy move on McCormick’s part to explore his feelings. I say, give him some time, some space, some faith, and I’ll bet my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo sling-backs that two, three days tops, and McCormick will return. All demon doubts exorcised.”
Besides, she silently added her own argument conceived earlier today, what are the chances this could happen twice in the same family?
She didn’t look at Cash as she eased back in her chair. “After all, ‘absence does make the heart grow fonder.’”
She saw the two sets of parents exchange glances. She stood, refusing to court any speculation. She picked up her coffee cup and returned it to the sideboard.
When she turned around, she saw Cash had stood also and was looking straight at her. “Now that’s all settled, time for that bourbon you promised me this morning. Ready?”
She didn’t know who was rescuing who.
“Considering the circumstances, if you prefer to decline…”
Maybe she appreciated the out he offered. Maybe it was the naked emotion she had seen in his eyes earlier or the open challenge she saw in them now. Maybe it was the melancholy that lingered. Maybe, more than anything, it was her determination not to let one flicker of doubt assail her. Savannah took a step toward her fiancé’s brother.
Cash showed neither surprise nor smugness, only swept his hand forward for her to precede him.
“Good night all,” she said as she moved past him, attributing the unusual blitheness in her voice to her decision to keep “the McCormick matter” completely under control.
Chapter Two
Savannah had expected that Cash would drive a sleek sporty number made for speed and sin. He didn’t disappoint her. The roadster was cherry-red and topless.
“Good night, Cash.” She headed toward her four-door sedan—rated first in its class for safety.
“Good night?” He had thought her behind him. He now slouched against the roadster’s side, recklessness meeting recklessness, and folded his arms. Every already-more-than-sufficient upper torso muscle expanded into “Body by Jake” territory.
She reached her car. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait until you pole-vault into that little number to make sure you don’t injure any vital parts.”
A thick lock of hair fell charmingly across his brow. “Mine or the car’s?”
She met his shameless features. “I imagine both are extremely precious to you.”
The lazy sweep of his hand as he combed back his hair was echoed by the easy curve of his lips. “You imagined right.” He pushed off from the car. “So, no drink?”
She opened her car door. “You couldn’t keep up with me.” She liked too much the sound of his laughter floating behind her. She slid into the driver’s seat, careful not to slam the door and reveal her aggravation. Her first instinct about Cash Walker this morning had been correct. He was a dangerous, dangerous man.
He strolled over to her car, propped his forearms on the opened window. “You still owe me a bourbon.”
So much for a clean getaway. She smiled indulgently. “I don’t recall ever making a definite date.”
He leaned in closer. “I believe we just did…about three minutes ago.”
“No, three minutes ago you made up an excuse to get out of there without looking as if you were running away.”
“Is that what happened, sis?”
She eyed this man who so effortlessly elicited a rare impulse in her—to leap over any barrier and throttle him. This same man who would soon be forever linked to her as family. She couldn’t decide if she should be ashamed or rueful that she hadn’t acted on her first and only-ever primal urge this morning.
“You do have a pattern.”
Again, she stared at that column of bronzed flesh as if ready to reach out, take its length between her hands as if only to feel the pulse of life beneath her palms. For a woman who didn’t scare easily, she suddenly was afraid.
“I’m sorry,” she said to herself as well as to him.
He smiled. “Don’t apologize—not when you’re right.”
She’d kill him yet.
“Yes, I made up the excuse, but—” He held up an index finger. “You knew it, and here you are. Here we both are. You see, I’m what’s commonly known as a bad influence.”
She considered her murderous instincts and the man’s face too close to hers. “And you enjoy every second of it.”
His smile became laughter. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever heard such unfettered enjoyment. Her shoulders eased from the rolling wave of it alone. Such a dangerous man.
“That’s why you won’t have a drink with me?”
She realized she’d been staring at that mobile, full mouth. She stopped her own smile that had come uninvited. “Why do you want to have a drink with me?” Her voice had become as honestly earnest as his had been tempting. For a moment, the element of surprise was on her side.
“I like you.”
The surprise rebounded to her, but stayed concealed beneath her dry tone. “You like me?”
“You’re fascinating.”
She would have rolled her eyes, but she refused to show reaction. She knew good and well she was hardly the kind of woman men found fascinating. That was her sister’s department, along with the vast bevy of breathy, curvaceous beauties that after tobacco and cotton seemed to be the South’s greatest crop.
She propped her chin on her fist. “How so?”
“For starters, you’ve been the only one not to accuse me of putting evil ideas inside my brother’s head. That’s as close to a defense as I’ll get within a hundred-mile radius of these parts.”
She let him study her.
“How do you know I didn’t tell McCormick to chuck it all and take off for the wide-open spaces?”
She looked into his eyes. “I don’t.”
His laughter was so close this time it seemed to sing inside her.
“But I don’t believe in condemning a man without cause.”
“Many would say a man’s past is enough cause for conviction.”
“And I would say everyone makes mistakes. I’m not fascinating. Merely fair.”
“But that’s not all I find intriguing.”
She pressed her lips together and waited.
“With the wedding right around the corner—”
“Eleven days.”
“Eleven days.”
His smile aggravated her.
“Your fiancé scribbles you a note and hightails it out of town. Do you sob your eyes out, scream epitaphs or consider contacting someone named Carmine in New Jersey? No, you sit here cooler than my Aunt Raybelle’s prize-winning key lime pie.” His voice lowered. “Fascinating.”
She sensed his observation wasn’t entirely complimentary.
“So according to you, right now I should be a woman destroyed, collapsed somewhere, clutching my chest, writhing and wailing ‘why me?”’ she said without inflection.
He kept his voice velvet. “It would be something to see.” That damn smile.
“It might amuse you—” his smile wasn’t widening, was it? “—but I find such self-indulgence unbecoming.” Her chin still set on her fist, she examined his extravagant features. She wasn’t sure for how long—seconds or centuries. “You don’t think I love your brother, do you?”
The upper hand of surprise was again to her benefit but, as before, only fleetingly.
“You must know by now that what I think is of little importance in this family.”
“Well, I’d like to know what you think.”
He paused a moment too long while Savannah told herself she didn’t care.
“If that plucky little speech you just delivered inside was for real and you weren’t just blowing smoke to buy some time before your father puts out an APB on McCormick, then I’d say my brother is a lucky man.”
She smiled carefully, not wanting to reveal relief. “Or I’m a foolish woman?”
“People in love are always fools.” His amusement was gone, leaving only darkness on the man’s features. A darkness that could encourage the doubts Savannah had been battling since she had opened McCormick’s note.
“Anything else you would like to know about me?” She was anxious to end the interview before doubts gained strength, insisted she succumb.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Do you love my brother?”
“Land’s sake, what kind of a question is that?” Even she was surprised by the anger in her response. She should look away, conceal any unwanted emotion that might come to her features, but she didn’t dare.
“It seems like a reasonable question considering you’re about to marry him.”
She wished he’d step back from the car. “I may not be a woman of passions—”
“On the contrary, Ms. Sweetfield, I think you are exactly that.”
She scanned his face but found no mockery. Despite the fact emotions did seem to come too easily when he was around, he was wrong. She was a rational woman. “You would not ask me that question if you knew me.”
“But I don’t know you. And you only think you know me. So, do you love my brother?”
“I suppose you asked your brother if he loved me?” she challenged.
“Sure did.”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. He was waiting for her to ask what McCormick had answered but she had no reason to, she reminded herself. Maybe McCormick and she weren’t the type to wear their emotions on their sleeves, but their consideration and respect for one another were as real as those who waxed poetic. Of course, Cash, a man so obviously ruled by his passions, could never understand such an agreeable arrangement. Naturally, he’d be compelled to question the relationship.
“I understand your concern.” She was bolstered by the reasonableness in her voice. “And I find it endearing that you care so much about your brother.”
His unrestrained laughter shook her to her cool core.
“Did I say something amusing?”
He actually wiped away tears. “I’m sure you’ve decided by now, darlin’, I’m the most unendearing man you’ll ever meet.”
She was careful to modulate her tone. “You do have a certain gift to provoke.”
“Ahh, you see…” His eyes sparkled. “I knew beneath that collected exterior there raged a wildcat.”
She would end up throttling him before the night was over. “What you don’t understand and have not had a chance to witness is the fact that your brother and I are a perfect match. What he wants out of life, I want and vice-versa. We’ve never even had one fight. Bottom line, I can’t imagine anyone or anything better for me than McCormick. I’m crazy for him, totally wild, absolutely gaga.”
He straightened, his laughter loose. “You’ve never been gaga in your life, Slick.”
Why hadn’t she strangled him when she had the strategy of self-defense on her side? “McCormick and I were made for each other. You can ask anyone who knows us.”
He finally stopped smiling. Still she didn’t like the expression on his face.
“I’m asking you.”
“And I answered you.” She allowed no hesitation in her voice. Yet somehow he had gained the upper hand and he knew it. “Your brother will be back in two, three days tops—”
“So you said.”
“You don’t believe he’s coming back?”
“Again, it doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is what you believe.”
“Damn straight.” She imagined fierceness in her face and struggled to smooth her features. “McCormick is coming back, and we’ll be married and incredibly, extraordinarily, blissfully happy for the rest of our lives.” She put her car into gear but Cash didn’t step away.
“Any more questions?” She called on the politeness inbred in all Southern women. She tipped her head back, matching his gaze. She didn’t like the rare soft brush of her hair against her shoulders. In the silent seconds, she heard the sound of her heartbeat.
Finally he said, “Just one.”
She braced herself.
“So, I won’t have to cancel Dee Dee and her Dancing Divas for the bachelor party?”
She used her most executive tone. “Oh, yes, you will.”
His smile returned as he chucked her under the chin as if she were no more than a child. “Good night, Savannah-Banana.”
Slick! Sis! Savannah-Banana! Not to mention the obligatory darlin’ and sweetheart. She watched him walk away, welcoming the relief, resigning herself to the irritation, surprised by a piddling curiosity. That’s as far as she dared to delve into the emotions that suddenly seemed ready to capsize her.
He turned as he reached his car. Too late, she realized she hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He rested his hand on the car’s side.
“Just so you won’t be disappointed.”
In one smooth motion, he hurdled himself behind the wheel. He looked down, back at her, wriggled his eyebrows.
“All precious parts intact.”
She fixed him with her longest stare of the night. “I don’t know if I like you.”
He grinned, all little boy now. “You like me.”
He drove off. Probably to look for the devil himself, she decided. She headed home, vowing to dream of McCormick and that they would be wonderful dreams. Instead she found herself lying wide awake in bed, contending with the fear that had threatened to topple her since she’d opened her office door that morning. She waited and waited for sleep to come. But even counting curses against Cash Walker instead of her usual recitation of fundamental strategies for achieving success in the twenty-first century didn’t do the trick.
Savanna woke the next morning without dreaming of McCormick, but the two hours sleep that had finally come were enough to restore her. With the day’s new coherency and a review of her daily planner, which was always within reach, also came the realization that she hadn’t told Cash about his fitting today. It was totally unlike her to be so inept. Only yesterday’s unusual circumstances permitted her to forgive herself and move on to fixing her blunder. Now if McCormick were here, she could simply call him and he would see his brother got to the fitting. Problem solved. Except McCormick wasn’t exactly here, was he?
She didn’t allow the thought to go any further. In the day’s new light, she refused to entertain any more doubts about her fiancé’s untimely trip.
She’d just have to make certain Cash got to the appointment herself.
“I’M SORRY, Ms. Sweetfield.” The Walkers’ maid came back on the phone line. “I knocked very loudly on his door but there was no answer.”
“Are you sure he’s in there?”
“I heard snoring, ma’am.”
Savannah released an exasperated breath as she checked the clock. No self-respecting individual sleeps until nine on a weekday. “Is anyone else home?”
“No, ma’am. Mrs. Walker just left for the salon and Mr. Walker is at the office, of course.”
“And I suppose Sam drove Mrs. Walker to her appointment?”