The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam: Cowboy Crescendo / Steamy Savannah Nights / The Enemy's Daughter

Six

Surrounded by a bevy of single women doused in warring fragrances, Toby studied his son’s nanny from a distance. His worries that the shy little thing might not fit in at such an ostentatious gathering were proving completely needless. Heather looked so cool and sexy in that stunning dress that one might be inclined to think she was born to rule over these kinds of parties. The kinds of parties that his ex-wife had lived for. And ultimately left him for.

Toby washed away the bile that rose in his throat with a second glass of champagne. It lacked the bite of good, old-fashioned whiskey. But he doubted that even Johnnie Walker would make the sight of Heather laughing at something one of his old classmates murmured in her ear go down any smoother. Freddie Prowell was from old money, and though his childhood acquaintance had always been a bit of a prig, Toby had never felt any kind of hatred toward him before tonight. The sight of Freddie leading Heather onto the dance floor caused his shoulders to bunch beneath his suit jacket.

Where had she gotten that dress? Toby wondered. It certainly didn’t look like something one would pick up off the rack for a special occasion. As Freddie’s hand dropped to the small of her back, Toby’s fingers tightened on the stem of his champagne flute. He imagined it would be as easy to snap the other man’s neck as the glassware in his hands.

Did Heather know that a backless gown could be even more intriguing to the male population than a plunging neckline. Toby’s imagination kicked into overdrive at the sight of all that creamy skin and the realization that she wasn’t wearing a bra. For all her aloofness toward him over the past few days, Heather didn’t appear to mind a stranger groping her in public. Not that it was any business of his. As a free woman, she was welcome to dance the night away with any number of drooling idiots lined up to ask for the pleasure of her company.

For that matter, Heather could damn well return to Wyoming wearing another man’s engagement ring if that was what she wanted to do—just so long as she didn’t leave him… er… he meant Dylan, high and dry without any advance notice.

Toby swore softly under his breath. He didn’t bother waiting for the song to end before breaking free of the circle of women holding court around him. He simply left them to speculate on his rudeness and the certain direction his steps took him.

He tapped too firmly on Freddie’s shoulder to be ignored. “Mind if I cut in?”

Considering that he managed to step between the two of them and wrap an arm around Heather’s waist in one fluid motion, the question was purely rhetorical. As such, it required no answer but for Freddie to step aside. He did so reluctantly.

“My, but don’t you look lovely tonight,” Toby said, drawing Heather close and breathing her in. Her fragrance was a subtle mixture of daisies and the devil herself.

Batting her eyes at him, Heather donned an exaggerated drawl that mimicked Marcie Mae’s. “I do declare, Mr. Danforth, such flattery could turn a girl’s head completely around.”

A smile played with the corners of Toby’s mouth. Was it possible she was as bored with this party as he?

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” he remarked dryly, moving her toward the French doors lest anyone dare try cutting in on him like he had Freddie.

Heather turned the conversation to a safer subject as the music switched to a slow, dreamy waltz. “The band is amazing.”

Unable to take her eyes off the handsome man who held her, she wasn’t quite sure when they left the ballroom floor and began dancing beneath a canopy of stars. It was less crowded in the courtyard and far quieter than inside. Beneath a night sky redolent with magnolia blossoms, a tender melody was carried on a breeze that did absolutely nothing to cool Heather off. She was on fire in Toby’s arms. Overhead a meteor flashed across the sky reminding her of what happened to stars that burned too hot.

As tempting as it was to think they were alone, Heather knew that eyes would always be upon the likes of Tobias Danforth. Whether he cared for it or not, no matter how far he roamed from his childhood home, family ties cast him in the light of celebrity. His sister, Genie, had already warned her about the paparazzi. Heather had little desire to be featured in some scandalous rag bent on pumping up its subscription with innuendo and compromising photos. For all she knew, the full moon might as well have been a spotlight cast upon them.

Nevertheless, Heather turned her face up to Toby, and for a blissful moment allowed herself the luxury of floating away in the arms of a strong man. Toby defined his own life his own way, yet he was wise enough to preserve ties with a family that obviously loved him. She wished he would share his secret with her. Instead of asking outright how he managed such a complicated feat, she merely ventured an observation.

“You prefer marching to the beat of your own drum, don’t you?”

Sensuous lips twitched beneath his mustache. “I know it’s been a while, but I hate to think my dancing is so bad that I make you feel like you’re in the infantry.”

Heather shook her head. He was a marvelous dancer, moving with a grace that defied time spent in the saddle. Her body fit nicely against his like a pair of nestled spoons. There was no need to think about her own feet as he swung her to the periphery of the concrete pad and steered her onto the grass. She supposed his mother had forced him into dance lessons at an early age and imagined he had resisted mightily any attempts to mold a would-be cowboy into a proper gentleman.

“You know what I mean.”

“One could say the same for you,” he replied, searching her face in the moonlight for an explanation of how someone who moved so easily in high society would want a position as a nanny in the backwoods of Wyoming.

He had no doubt that a woman like Heather would soon grow tired of the simple ranch life that he so loved. His ex-wife claimed the isolation made her crazy. Once Sheila realized that she would never be able to cajole or badger him into resuming his rightful place in society, she couldn’t renounce her wedding vows fast enough. One of the nasty rumors going around tonight’s little soiree was that she was off in Rio with some European playboy and the two of them were spending Toby’s generous alimony as if it were an endlessly renewable resource.

When the music stopped, he paused to consider a tendril of Heather’s hair. Holding it between his thumb and fingertips, he studied each strand as if they were filaments of pure gold.

When the back of his hand brushed against Heather’s cheek, the spark that had been teasing her imagination all night long burst into full flame. Although every instinct told her to pull away, to run away and not bother to look back, she remained rooted to her spot on the dewy grass. She fought to draw air into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe.

The fact that she and Toby were no longer moving did not lessen the feeling that the world was spinning out of control. A deft twist of Toby’s wrist loosened the pin from her hair and sent it spilling around her shoulders in a shimmer of light that caught and held the moonlight. She might have protested against the injury done to her sophisticated hairstyle had it not been for a Roman candle exploding overhead, signaling the beginning of what was to prove a spectacular fireworks display.

“Look!” she exclaimed.

Toby didn’t bother looking heavenward. His attention was fixed on the slender curve of an outstretched neck and shoulders so white they might have been carved from marble.

“I am looking,” he told her.

Heather lowered her eyes to meet a smoky gaze, a smoldering source of heat that rivaled the rapid- fire explosions overhead. Having wondered what it would be like to be kissed by this man, she was overcome by panic when it became obvious Toby was about to put her imagination to rest.

This is crazy, she wanted to say. You’re my boss, and I’m your son’s nanny. It isn’t proper. And it most certainly isn’t smart.

Still, those warnings didn’t keep her from leaning into him as he curled his hand around her neck and crushed her mouth beneath his. She would have fought against such unexpected roughness had it not made her so weak in the knees and left her desperately wanting more. His lips were firm, and she discovered that she very much liked the texture of his mustache against her tender skin. It did not tickle at all as she had read in foolish books she had hidden from her parents when she was a girl. But it did make her feel soft and feminine in contrast. And it left her wondering how that mustache would feel brushed against every inch of her body.

Resounding booms were coming more and more quickly as the fireworks display drew the crowd out of the lobby and into the courtyard. Appreciative ooohs and ahhhs filled Heather’s head. Sparkles trailing across the sky were a poor imitation of the tingles racing up and down her spine. Great explosions of color mirrored the quick succession of emotions bursting inside her. She had been kissed before, but never had she tasted a man and been rendered insatiable by it. Wanting him to feel the same sense of powerlessness that she did, Heather held nothing back and responded wantonly.

The lady might look as cool as a Grecian statue, but trembling in his arms she was all heat and wondrously giving. Emotions that sparked off one another the very first time they met now caught on fire. Fanned by passion, they spread like wildfire as need raged through them both. Though supple in his arms, Toby discovered that Heather was not as fragile as she looked. Having tasted the forbidden fruit of his secret desire, Toby wanted nothing more than to tumble her into the shadows and make her his own. Such thoughts in such a civilized setting were utterly inappropriate. It was an obsession, Toby was sure, born of a prolonged period of self-imposed celibacy.

That didn’t stop him from kissing her deeply and plundering the sweet depths of her mouth. Heather met the thrust of his tongue with her own inquisitive exploration. Toby’s hands roamed freely over the warm, smooth skin of her exposed back. Moving his mouth to her neck, he thrilled to the beat of her pulse beneath his lips and the mewling sound caught deep in her throat.

“I want you,” he confessed in a voice made raspy with need. “Right now.”

There was no telling what Heather’s response might have been had not a flashbulb gone off in her face. Her startled gasp was lost in the shouts of a crowd mesmerized by the effects of Abraham Danforth’s elaborately planned fireworks display. Heather and Toby had been so engrossed in each other they hadn’t noticed people were laying blankets down on the ground about them as others gathered on the veranda to sip mint juleps and admire the show.

Horrified to have a moment of weakness immortalized on film, Heather tore herself away from Toby with a sob. If it wasn’t enough to be made a fool of by Josef and be forced to endure whispering behind her back in her home state, now she would be whispered about in Savannah, too. If she knew the paparazzi, her shame was certain to be on display in magazines by the morning. She could write the caption herself: Most Masochistic Woman in the World Falls in Love with the Wrong Man All Over Again.

Tabloids were sure to fly off the shelves at the little country store where Toby bought his groceries. By the time Dylan reached preschool, she supposed everyone would believe that his nanny was sleeping with his daddy. Angry at herself for succumbing to the charms of yet another man in control of her future, Heather turned and ran, less from the reporter who violated their privacy than from her mental admission that she was falling in love with Toby.

Blinded by tears, she didn’t wait to witness Toby chase the unwelcome photographer down the sidewalk.

The Twin Oaks Hotel was virtually abandoned. Most, if not all, of the guests were watching the fireworks outside, and Abraham Danforth’s political machine was gearing up to pass the proverbial hat around to solicit contributions to the cause. Heather had yet to meet the would-be senator, dubbed by the press as Honest Abe II. She doubted he would appreciate being upstaged in tomorrow’s newspaper by a picture of her in a compromising position with his nephew.

She slipped around to a back entrance of the old hotel. The door stuck initially, but Heather had enough adrenaline surging through her blood to force it open. Making her way down a dimly lit hallway, she searched for some secluded spot where she could pull herself together and put that soul- shattering kiss behind her. If she failed to locate an unoccupied bathroom, she’d settle for simply finding the wing of the hotel that had been reserved for the children. Just thinking of Dylan’s heartfelt hugs had a calming effect upon her.

One hallway led to another and before she knew it, Heather was completely lost. The place seemed to go on forever. With each step, the halls grew darker. Antique wall sconces that had been modernized with electrical wiring glowed with flickering lights intended to replicate candlelight. It was a touch too real for Heather, who was on the verge of turning around and retracing her steps when she caught a glimpse of someone at the far end of the corridor gesturing to her.

She looked remarkably like the mysterious lady whom Heather had spied under the big oak tree back at Crofthaven on the day of their arrival. As this was a formal affair, Heather could have easily mistaken a modern floor-length gown for the period clothing she thought she’d seen the woman wearing that day. In the shadowy light, it was easy to imagine quite a lot of things, including the draft of cold air that raised goose bumps up and down the length of her arms.

Nevertheless, Heather was drawn down that dark hallway.

“Wait!” she called out as the woman disappeared around yet another corner.

Hoping she was winding her way closer to the lobby, Heather gave chase. As she rounded the next corner, a scream died in her throat.

In front of her appeared a young woman with dark hair, very pale skin and eyes rimmed with pain. The shadowy figure seemed to float in the air. A golden locket at her throat glinted in the flickering light. Having never seen a ghost before, Heather nonetheless recognized this apparition for what it was.

Stumbling against the wall, she felt a drip of hot wax fall upon her shoulder from the wall sconce. She winced.

As tempted as she was to run screaming back down that hallway, both Heather’s voice and feet failed her at once. Her heart pounded out of control as the specter stared through her with sorrowful black eyes. Without moving her lips, she relayed a message to Heather.

“Don’t fail his little boy like I failed my charges….”

The voice resonating in Heather’s head lacked the Southern tone which she expected.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Don’t fail the boy,” the woman repeated, blowing a frightening puff of breath directly in her face. “Or your own heart.”

With that, she vanished altogether, leaving Heather to wonder if she hadn’t imagined the whole ghastly encounter.

Seven

By the time Heather found her way back to the hotel lobby, she was questioning her own sanity. What other explanation could there be for a delusional encounter with the other side? Considering that she had been nursing a glass of ginger ale for most of the night, it certainly couldn’t be attributed to alcohol. Heather supposed it went without saying that a hotel as steeped in history as Twin Oaks was bound to evoke eerie feelings in its guests, especially one overwrought by the prospect of falling in love with her employer.

That the same sad-faced woman would appear to Heather both at Crofthaven and Twin Oaks seemed further proof that her imagination was playing games with her. All that nonsense about not failing her charge and her heart was probably just her subconscious sorting through her conflicted emotions. Between overloaded hormones and better judgment.

The only other explanation was one that chilled Heather’s blood and left her visibly shaking as she accepted her first glass of alcohol all evening from a bored-looking waiter. She tossed it back like a seasoned drunk and set the empty glass back on the fellow’s tray in one fluid motion. Scanning the premises, she hoped the fireworks display was coming to an end, marking the official end of a long evening. She, for one, was ready to call it a night.

A deep masculine voice intruded on her thoughts. “Most everybody’s still outside in case you were wondering.”

Heather wheeled around and bumped into a solid wall of masculine chest. Craning her neck, she peered into the eyes of a tall, well-built stranger. That his brown eyes beheld her with amusement left her feeling both disadvantaged and tongue-tied. She hoped he wasn’t expecting a response from her.

“It won’t be long,” he continued, “before Abraham Danforth makes his speech. After that, the party should begin to wind down, except for the diehards, who are certain to be here until the sun comes up.”

Heather hoped nobody expected her to stick around that long. She was even willing to use Dylan as an excuse if it would get her out of here any sooner. Ever since they had arrived in Savannah, family members had been so eager to spend time with him, and he had been so preoccupied with his cousin Peter, that her services had scarcely been needed. Nonetheless, all Heather wanted to do right now was head back to Harold and Miranda’s house and fall into bed. With any luck, the entire night would seem like a bad dream by morning.

Her voice was as shaky as the hands she hid behind her back. “Will you be among them?” she ventured to ask. “The diehards, that is?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said in a strong, slow drawl. “I expect I will.”

He didn’t strike Heather as someone inclined to excessive partying. Yet he had just admitted that he would remain at the fund-raiser with the last of the diehards. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Alert as he was in scanning the premises without drawing attention to the fact, the man’s emotions appeared as tightly coiled as her own. Feeling an odd sense of kinship with him, she offered him her hand along with her name.

“Michael Whittaker,” he rejoined, growing suddenly solemn. “Good Lord, your hand is as cold as ice. Are you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Funny you should put it that way…”

Heather’s bones suddenly turned gelatinous. Michael reached out to grab her by the elbow. Concern illuminated his dark eyes as he led her to the nearest love seat and positioned himself next to her.

“What happened?”

Heather shook her head. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I doubt that.”

The hard look that accompanied those terse words provided Heather a strange sense of comfort. Still, she hesitated to relay the vision that congealed her blood and left her babbling to herself. Thinking back to that dark, haunted hallway, she took necessary precautions before baring her soul.

“You aren’t by any chance a reporter, are you?”

The smile that broke across the man’s distinctive features assured her that he found the very idea preposterous.

“A security specialist. Who better to trust?”

Indeed. What harm could there be in sharing a ghost story with a stranger at this late hour? What difference would it make even if he thought her mad? In a few short days, she would be a thousand miles away from here, well on her way to ridiculing herself for being frightened by a figment of her imagination.