Change of Life. Leigh Riker

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      “I don’t see being able to hold the ceremony until the middle of next year.” Nora ticked off the months. “It’s almost October now, which means a due date in April if my math is correct.”

      “April Fool’s Day,” Savannah murmured, which had amused her and Johnny. This baby was the best gift she could give him, and vice versa. But the notion terrified her out of her remaining wits. A mother? A wife? All in the same half year? Sure, this was what Savannah had wanted with all her heart, but her first delight and surprise at the happy turn of events were gone, and she was feeling the slightest bit queasy tonight, not only from morning sickness, which, ironically, seemed to last all day.

      There were definitely adjustments to be made, and Savannah admired her mother all over again. Nora charged ahead without the least bit of hesitation, but Savannah was indeed a late bloomer who wasn’t sure of her capabilities in the new roles she had admittedly chosen. Whether or not she felt qualified to handle this newest phase of her life, she was in it now.

      If one thing was certain, Savannah had learned when her parents had split, it was that life perpetually changed, often in astonishing ways. It was up to her to manage this change. But what if she couldn’t?

      She couldn’t tell Johnny how she felt. She had eased him into the notion that it was all right—and perfectly safe—to love her, that she would never break his heart, and that after his shaky start in the world of relationships, they could live happily for the rest of their lives. If she uttered one word of doubt, she feared he just might bolt. What if he felt trapped?

      Savannah realized she hadn’t heard whatever her mother said.

      “…when the baby arrives, we can replan the wedding.”

      Panic flashed through Savannah’s uneasy middle. She laid a calming hand over her stomach. “Ma, there’s no reason to postpone the wedding. Everything’s on track at last, and the seamstress you hired can put some kind of inverted pleat in the front of my dress.”

      Nora looked horrified. “Ruin a dress that cost half the earth? I think not.”

      “You’re worried about how I look?” Savannah waved a dismissive hand. “If Demi Moore could pose with her naked, pregnant belly for some magazine, and every other celebrity on the planet has taken up an attitude of ‘let it all hang out,’ I don’t see why not. At least I’ll be fully clothed. It won’t be ruined, Ma. I want to get married now.”

      Nora studied her face. Savannah’s words had come out—been blurted, really—much faster than she intended. They sounded desperate. She didn’t want to lose Johnny.

      “Angel, is there something you haven’t told me?”

      Savannah didn’t meet her eyes. “Could we not talk about this right now? The clam chowder I ate for lunch is threatening to take the reverse route in my digestive system.” She turned away from the look on Nora’s face. Another second, and her mother would be shoving saltine crackers down her throat. “Enough about me, Ma.” She looked at Nora. “Why is your face flushed? The wine? Or are you having a hot flash?”

      “One,” Nora muttered. “Two at the most.”

      To Savannah’s relief, the front door opened. But it wasn’t Johnny.

      Savannah’s brother, Browning, strolled into the kitchen carrying a big bag from Kentucky Fried Chicken and wearing his usual What, me worry? grin. If he only knew…

      “Hey. My two favorite girls. Thought I’d drop by for dinner before the football game tonight and—uh-oh,” he said, taking in both their faces. He dropped the bag on the counter, spun around and headed back the way he’d come. “Guess I’m outta here.”

      Savannah caught him by the collar. “Oh, no you aren’t. This is a surprise, but I need fresh troops—and you’re it.” She poured the last of the wine into a glass, which only made him wrinkle his nose. Browning preferred beer. “You just missed Kit and Tyler.” When he groaned at her teasing, Savannah said, “Take Ma into the living room while I find some clean plates for dinner.”

      It wasn’t long before Savannah heard Nora’s agitated voice from the other room. Obviously the subject of Detective Caine had come up.

      Savannah unpacked their take-out dinner while her brother listened to Nora vent about the missing vase. When Savannah poked her head around the kitchen door to check on them, he was leaning back, arms spread across the back of the sofa with his grin still in place. It took a lot to ruffle Browning. He had nerves of steel.

      “Let it go, Ma. You told the cop what you know—that you’re innocent. Forget him.”

      “I should be that lucky. The vase is valuable, but even more so to Geneva, it’s an emotional loss. She won’t give up until it’s found. Neither, I’m sure, will Caine. Why expect less? This hasn’t been my week, angel.”

      Savannah almost pitied her brother, stuck with two women who were trying to deal with their topsy-turvy lives. How could he understand? Browning had too many friends of the single male variety, all of whom tended to act like adolescent, hormone-driven boys half their age. Like Nora, she had nearly given up hope that Browning, at twenty-six, would mature—and find a good woman to marry so they wouldn’t have to worry about him.

      Not that Browning actually needed care.

      He had grown into an amazing man, tall and lean with muscle, yet almost rangy like her Grandfather Pride, but with his own father’s perfect bones and Wilson’s vibrant coloring. Long-lashed hazel eyes, dark hair. Why on earth didn’t some woman grab him?

      Many had tried, Savannah knew.

      Browning insisted he liked his bachelor state as much as he enjoyed his government job. His friends. His weekends at the beach with any available blonde, brunette or redhead who answered his come-here smile. He practiced a persuasive variation of it on Nora now. Savannah had her own opinion. Her friend Kit might have a few issues, but she could very well be a match for Browning. If only he thought so, too…

      “Ma, sit down. You’re wearing a hole in Savannah’s carpet.” He patted the seat beside him. “Finish your wine and tell me the rest of your troubles.”

      “Don’t encourage her, Browning.” Savannah ducked back into the kitchen and ran the garbage disposer, as if the noise might shut out their conversation. And her own fears.

      When she came out with a tray full of cutlery and plates, Nora was gazing into her chardonnay as if the wine tasted like acid and might kill her at any moment.

      “I can’t stop thinking about that detective or about Geneva. If you had seen her, Browning, just falling apart this afternoon… Not only did she lose something precious, now she’s worried about her marriage, too.”

      “It wasn’t a pretty sight, I’m sure. Ah, here we are.” He glanced up, sounding relieved when Savannah set their dinner on the coffee table. Fighting a wave of nausea at the smells wafting from the cartons in front of her, Savannah plunked down on the carpet, cross-legged.

      “That may not be a healthful position for the baby,” Nora cautioned.

      “I’m not even showing, Ma. The baby only weighs an ounce.”

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