A Hero for All Seasons Page 9

  Cooking had not come easily or naturally to her. She was better at the computer than at the stove. She supposed that made her a modern woman.

  “I’ll try not to make it taste that way,” she murmured. Taking out a chopping board, she began dicing the green pepper.

  Other than when he stopped in an occasional restaurant, Sam wasn’t accustomed to having someone wait on him. “Need help?”

  “No, I can manage.” And chopping the green pepper felt oddly therapeutic. But his offer echoed in her head, registering. She stopped chopping. “You cook?”

  That was stretching the description. He boiled. Usually those handy little bags that promised meals in five minutes. And he dialed—takeout.

  Sam shrugged evasively. “Enough to survive.”

  Since she didn’t want his help, Sam sat down at the bar running along the other side of Savannah’s work counter. He looked around, taking in the surroundings for the first time. The kitchen was twice as large as the one in his eldest brother’s house, and there were five people in David’s family. This was way too much house for just one woman and one little girl.

  A quick survey told him that she had money, something he already knew. Since no ransom calls had come in, it confirmed the theory he’d already advanced. That Aimee’s abduction had been committed to get the child, not for any monetary rewards.

  The playing field was still wide enough to house three football stadiums.

  “How do you stay so optimistic?”

  Savannah’s question dispersed his thoughts for the time being.

  He didn’t have to think before answering. “It’s the only way I know how to operate. Being negative paralyzes you.”

  That was true enough. Breaking four eggs in the pan, she watched them sizzle hypnotically.

  “I know,” she murmured quietly. Taking a spatula, she quickly broke up the yolks, moving mechanically. Grateful to have something to occupy her. The diced pepper, cheese and onion were swiftly folded in and partially obscured.

  The extension on the kitchen wall jangled. Savannah caught her breath as she jerked her head up. Was it the kidnapper again?

  Sam was off the stool immediately.

  “I’ll get that,” he told her. But when he picked up the receiver, there was no one there. “Probably a wrong number.”

  The frustration he felt was echoed in her eyes. He replaced the receiver. Her number, he knew, was unlisted. That didn’t seem to stop anyone. If experience was any yardstick, the calls could well continue into the small hours of the night.

  He looked at her. “You’re not going to get any sleep unless you turn off the telephone.”

  How could he even suggest that? “I can’t turn off the phone. What if the kidnapper calls back? What if he wants to talk this time?”

  That was doubtful, but Sam kept that to himself.

  Judging where the dishes would be kept, Sam opened up an overhead cabinet. He guessed wrong and tried the next one with more success.

  As he took down two plates, he made a decision.

  “I could stay the night. Spend it on your couch in the living room and pick up the calls,” he added quickly in case she thought he was suggesting something else. The last thing she needed to worry about was having to fend off unwanted attention.

  Savannah looked at him. “Don’t you have to check with your wife? Or is she used to this sort of thing?”

  “Neither. I don’t have a wife because of this ‘sort of thing.’ I couldn’t ask a woman to put up with this kind of a life.”

  The way he said it made her think that there once had been a woman he’d wanted to ask to share this kind of a life, but hadn’t. Apparently things hadn’t turned out for him, either. It made her feel closer to him somehow.

  “If she loved you enough, it wouldn’t be too much to ask”

  His eyes met hers. “I never got far enough into a relationship for that to be a question.”

  She knew by his tone that he was telling her the subject was closed. Savannah respected his privacy and backed away.

  The idea of having him here through the night was far more comforting than she would have expected. But she still had to turn down his offer. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking,” Sam pointed out. “I’m offering. Part of the service,” he added before she could say no again.

  He’d looked tired when she’d come into his office this morning, and they had since put in a full day together. “But you need to sleep, don’t you?”

  That was the least of his problem. If he examined it, the problem went far deeper, was far more intricate than just his catching a few zzzs.

  So he didn’t examine it; he just went with gut instincts. The lady deserved a night’s rest.

  “I can sleep hanging off a meat hook if I have to. I figure your couch is more comfortable than that.” He placed the dishes on the counter for her. He saw the look in her eyes. She was only partially here. “We’ll find her, Savannah.”

  Savannah tried to keep her mind on distributing the omelette evenly. It was an effort doomed to failure. “You keep saying that.” She slid the empty frying pan into the sink. Ordinarily, she’d wash it immediately, but that required more strength than she had at her disposal right now.

  “That’s because I keep believing it.” He smiled into her eyes. “And you need to hear it.” Taking a bite, he found that the omelette was delicious.

  “Yes, I do.” She tried to take a couple of bites, but the food wouldn’t go past the lump in her throat. Giving up, Savannah placed the fork down on the plate. “Oh, damn, you made me want to cry.”

  He stopped eating and turned his stool to face her. “Then cry.”

  She raised her chin, determination etched into her features. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  “Why? Because it’s weak? It’s not weak, Savannah,” he told her softly. “It’s getting rid of tension. People do all sorts of things to get rid of tension. They go to shrinks, they pop pills, some overeat,” he enumerated. He gave up fighting the desire to hold her. Sam slid off his stool. His hands on her shoulders, he coaxed her to her feet. “The really smart ones work out or cry. Way I see it, crying’s the cheapest route. No club fees, no bills to pay.”

  She wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. There was too much sadness in the way.

  He had his arms around her now, and he was holding her to him. One human being offering comfort to another.

  Though she felt that it was weak of her, Savannah couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t broken down when Aimee had been abducted, not even in the privacy of her own home. She’d been afraid that once she did, she wouldn’t be able to pull the pieces together again.

  Ever.

  The closest she’d come was in the car earlier, but even then she’d managed to rally at the last moment.

  But Sam, with his easy humor and his competent manner, made it so easy to lean on him. Made it too easy to stop being brave and strong, and just be afraid.

  Surrendering, Savannah clung to him and cried quietly.

  Sam held her for a long time, stroking her hair and just letting her cry herself out. He knew it was the best thing for her right now. That his heart twisted a little to hear her was beside the point. As was the fact that he felt something stirring inside him. All these things were extraneous.

  But he couldn’t quite get himself to believe it.

  After a while, Savannah struggled to get hold of herself. She couldn’t just dissolve this way. It wasn’t fair to Sam.

  Raising her face to his, she said, “You’ve got to stop being so nice.”

  He pretended to consider that. “I could kick you in the shin a couple of times if you like.”

  She felt her lips curving. “It might help.”

  It would also help, Sam thought, if he dropped his hands to his sides. Now.

  But instead of dropping them, he found himself threading his fingers through her hair and framing her face. He wouldn’t have been able to say later, if a
nyone had asked, how his lips came to be touching hers. Or just how he wound up kissing her.

  All he could have said in his defense was that it seemed—it felt—inevitable. Like the sun rising in the morning after a very long, dark night.

  Savannah’s pulse quickened as everything within her ran toward the light, toward the sweetness and comfort she felt in his kiss. She’d been strong all her life, but now she gravitated toward his strength, his kindness, like an empty vessel sorely in need of replenishing.

  The kiss filled every corner of her being. And made her want more.

  The flash of desire that came to her an instant later was a complete surprise. When she finally recognized it for what it was.

  Savannah thightened her hands on his shoulders, fisting her fingers in his shirt and absorbing every nuance of the kiss like a starving shipwreck survivor finally faced with sustenance. Unable to justify her reaction, she just let it happen.

  Sam felt his body pulsing in response to hers. Damn, what the hell did he think he was doing, kissing her like this? Was he out of his mind? This was going against every rule he’d ever written for himself. And knowing that, admitting that, why the hell wasn’t he pulling away?

  The silent demand throbbed in Sam’s mind almost as hard as his body throbbed in response to the woman in his arms. -

  It took more effort than he would ever have thought necessary to draw away from her.

  Blowing out a breath, Sam looked down into her face: she looked dazed. Self-loathing pricked at his conscience. How could he take advantage of her like this?

  “I’m sorry.” The apology was a hoarse whisper. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She laid a finger to his lips to keep him from continuing. She didn’t want to hear an apology. Not when what he had done was tantamount to throwing her a lifeline.

  “Don’t be. It’s the nicest thing to have happened to me since this whole ugly business started.” Maybe even longer than that, she thought.

  Drawing away from him, Savannah self-consciously ran a hand through her hair. She knew her eyes had to be swollen from crying.

  “I must look awful.”

  His eyes touched her softly, though he knew he had no right to be feeling what he was feeling. Had no right to have done what he’d done.

  “Not that I can see.”

  She knew what she had to look like. Still, the compliment touched her. “I thought I was paying you to be observant.”

  His eyes held hers. “You are.”

  This shouldn’t have happened, Sam thought. No way in hell was he supposed to kiss a client. He was guilty of taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable woman. He had nothing in his defense, no way to absolve himself in his own eyes.

  Still, he couldn’t quite get himself to regret kissing her. The most he could do was promise himself that it wouldn’t happen again. She didn’t need a detective who wasn’t free to make a commitment complicating her life.

  He saw her begin to clear away her plate. She hadn’t touched the meal she’d made. He took it from her. “Why don’t you see if you can get some rest?”

  It was against her nature to leave things undone. She desperately needed order of some sort. Savannah looked at the frying pan in the sink. “The dishes—”

  “I’ll do them,” he promised.

  He was doing everything, she thought, this man that fate had pushed into her life: the dishes, answering the phone—

  As if on cue, the telephone began to ring. Holding up a hand, Sam stopped her from answering it.

  “I’ll get it.” His hand covered the receiver. “I’ll wake you if it’s anything,” he promised.

  She believed him, but she couldn’t leave the room, tired as she was, until she knew who was on the other end of this call. Savannah held her breath as he picked up the receiver.

  “King residence.” He listened a moment, then covered the mouthpiece. Sam suppressed the frown. “It’s George Cartwright. You want to talk to him?”

  Exhaling, Savannah flushed, then held her hand out for the telephone. She wasn’t certain exactly what she was feeling as she said “hello.” Confused probably covered it best.

  Trying to give her privacy, Sam turned his attention to the two plates on the counter. Hungrier than he first realized, he finished both meals quickly. There hadn’t been that much there to begin with.

  He slid both plates into the sink on top of the pan. It was impossible for him not to listen to the conversation. He told himself that listening was all right because what was being said might have something to do with the case, but he knew he was lying.

  “No, really, George, there’s nothing you can do. Not unless you know where she is. Thank you. I appreciate that. Yes, of course. Thank you—and good luck.” Sam watched her hang up the phone.

  He wanted to ask what she “appreciated,” but he waited for her to volunteer the information.

  She turned to face Sam, a bemused expression on her face. It had been more than six months since she’d heard from George. She’d never expected to again. Their parting hadn’t been overly amicable. “George just wanted to offer me his support.”

  Sam nodded as he made short work of the dishes. He dried off his hands, disliking the feelings that were ricocheting through him. Feelings that had no business being there.

  “Was he close to Aimee?”

  “Close enough to think of her as a possible stepdaughter. Not close enough to want to kidnap her.” She was absolutely sure of that. “He was always very nice to her, but he wasn’t overly attached. I was his primary interest, not Aimee. And no,” she said before he had a chance to pose the question, “I don’t think he’d kidnap her to get to me. There’s someone else in his life now.”

  And she was happy for him. It was the reason he’d given for having hesitated about calling until now. But they had a history, however minor. And for old time’s sake, George had asked her if she wanted him to come over. She’d turned him down. Maybe she wouldn’t have if Sam hadn’t been here. She was grateful to Sam for that, she realized. Grateful to him for not allowing her to possibly make a mistake because she felt’ so alone.

  Whether he’d intended this or not, she didn’t feel quite as alone anymore. She felt...felt things perhaps she shouldn’t, she thought. Especially given the circumstances she found herself in. But there was something about the gentleness beneath his brash exterior, the kindnesses he extended when she least expected it, that broke through all her barriers, stirring the heart she’d been so sure was now just an empty shell.

  The man did dishes, for heaven’s sake. And there was something in his smile. Something reassuring and...

  Abruptly, unwilling to let her thoughts stray further, she turned toward the linen closet. “Let me get you some bedding.”

  He saw no reason to go to any trouble. He’d been on more than his share of stakeouts. “That’s okay. I don’t need much.”

  She wouldn’t push. “You’re a rare man, Sam Walters.” In more ways than one, she added silently.

  “So they tell me.” He smiled, making himself comfortable on the sofa. He made a mental note to have George Cartwnght checked out. Just in case. “See you in the morning.”

  She left the room with his words ringing in her ears. Like everything else about him, they were oddly comforting.

  Chapter 8

  The smell of coffee, rich and aromatic, drew Sam out of the shallow sleep he’d succumbed to when the telephone had finally stopped ringing.

  Moaning slightly as he stirred, eyes still shut, he reached for the telephone where he’d put it on the floor. It was only when his fingers had grasped the receiver that he realized the telephone wasn’t ringing and that that wasn’t what had woken him up.

  Opening his eyes, the first thing Sam saw from his vantage point was a light gray skirt and a pair of very shapely legs. His brain, the fog only now lifting, told him that somehow the legs were connected to the coffee. It took him another minute or two before his memory caught up to him
.

  Sam sat bolt upright, a sheepish smile curving his mouth as he looked up at Savannah. It wasn’t his habit to be caught sleeping on the job.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

  Unable to lie in bed any longer, Savannah had been up and dressed for more than half an hour. When she’d passed the living room and looked in to find him asleep, she’d decided to make breakfast rather than wake him.

  “I was trying to be quiet.” She set the large blue mug in front of him on the coffee table. A thatch of dark blond hair was hanging in his eyes, and he looked more like a boy than a hardened private investigator. “You looked so comfortable, I was going to let you sleep.”

  He shook his head, dragging his hand through his hair and clearing away the last remnants of sleep from his system. Softly or not, he should have heard her walking in, he admonished himself.

  “I do fine on seven minutes,” he cracked. He’d had every intention of being up before she was. The sofa had proven to be way too comfortable. He eyed the dark liquid in the mug. A ray of sunlight was glancing off the surface. “As long as I have coffee.”

  Taking the mug in both hands, Sam brought it to his mouth and sipped almost reverently, like a man who’d been wandering the desert and was finally given something to clear his parched throat.

  “God,” he murmured after draining a third of the mug and feeling the coffee kick its way into his system, shaking it awake, “you’re an angel of mercy.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at his reaction. Apparently he’d been serious last night when he said he was easy to please.

  “If all it takes is making coffee, I guess I qualify.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “I made breakfast, too. Does that put me on the list for sainthood?” When he looked up at her, a pensive expression in his eyes, she lost her train of thought for a second. Silly, she chided silently. “It’s just more eggs, with toast, but—”

  Sam waved away her apology. Breakfast was usually a piece of bread, hardly toasted, on the run. If that.

  “Coffee,” he assured her. “I just need coffee and I’ll be fine.”