The One She Left Behind. KRISTI GOLD

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      “Does Savannah know about this?” Jim asked.

      That was one obstacle he didn’t care to consider at the moment. “I don’t know what she knows, Dad, and honestly, I doubt she cares unless she has some fool notion to keep the place in the family. That’s about as likely as Gracie taking flight in the morning.”

      He exchanged a smile with Gracie before his dad said, “I guess you know what you’re doing, Sam. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite you on the butt.”

      Sam was too tired to argue the point. Besides, the deal with Wainwright was all but done, and he almost never went back on his word. Not in the past few years. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing, Dad. You didn’t waste your money on my college education.”

      “You definitely have smarts, son,” Jim said. “At least when it comes to running this farm. Now, as far as your personal life goes, you might have been behind the door when they handed out the common sense.”

      Gracie slid onto the chair’s arm. “Leave the man alone, Jimmy. He’s just had some bad luck in the relationship department.”

      That was the last thing he cared to discuss. “If you’re finished lecturing me, Dad, I’m going to tell my kid good-night and get some sleep.” He rose from the sofa and turned his attention to Gracie. “Since Jamie has her mind set on seeing Ruth tomorrow, do you mind taking her by the house?”

      “She’s got to start baking for the summer festival,” his dad answered for her. “Lots and lots of cakes and cookies.”

      Yeah, right. “Unless someone changed the date, the festival doesn’t start until Saturday.”

      “True, but Gracie likes to get things done early.” Jim winked at his wife. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

      After the confusion left Gracie’s face, she said, “That’s right. Besides, you should take Jamie by and check on the family. Ruth might need a hand with something.”

      “Plus, we’ve already paid our respects and actually made it into the house,” his dad added. “And while you’re there, mind your manners and be nice to Savannah.”

      Okay, he’d mind his manners. As far as being nice to Savannah, well, that was a stretch. He could play at being civil for his family’s sake but he sure as hell wouldn’t be her best friend. She gave up that right the day she walked out of town and never looked back.

      CHAPTER THREE

      MUTED VOICES FILTERING IN through the open bedroom window pulled Savannah out of a deep sleep. After glancing at the clock and noting the time, she practically vaulted out of bed. She rarely slept past dawn, much less 9:00 a.m., even on weekends. Her dad used to say that life was too short to snooze it away, and she’d never forgotten it. For a few moments she allowed the loss of her father, the ever-present grief, to subside before she faced the day—and her mother.

      Savannah dressed in a faded purple T-shirt and a pair of tacky white knit shorts before heading to the hall bath to complete her morning ritual. Her unruly hair was a hopeless cause, thanks to going to bed with it wet, so she piled it into a ponytail and padded down the stairs in desperate need of caffeine. She found a fresh pot of coffee on the kitchen stove and blueberry muffins on the counter, but not a soul in sight. Then she recalled the earlier sounds of conversation and decided her aunt, uncle and mother had opted to enjoy their breakfast on the front porch.

      Savannah ignored the muffins and grabbed a cup of coffee to take outside. The moment she opened the front door, the summer scent of fresh-mown grass assaulted her senses and resurrected more memories. Good memories of walking barefoot in clover and chasing fireflies at night.

      When she stepped onto the porch, Savannah pulled up short. Not only did she find May, Bill and her mother seated on the chairs scattered around the weathered wooden decking, two others had joined them. A little girl with dark, dark hair and cobalt blue eyes stared at her from her perch on the porch swing. And next to that little girl, the man who had occupied her dreams more nights than she could count.

      “Have a seat, young ’un.” Uncle Bill stood and gestured toward the only unoccupied chair, which happened to be much too close to Sam. If he were in the next county, that would be too close.

      Savannah refused to give in to the urge to sprint back into the house. Instead, she took the offered chair, coffee mug gripped tightly in her hand. “Good morning,” she managed, relieved that her voice didn’t give away her nervousness.

      Her mother, in typical fashion, nixed the greeting to ask, “Where are your shoes, Savannah Leigh?”

      She hadn’t even realized she was barefoot. She never went without shoes outside the house these days—under normal circumstances. Nothing about this little morning soiree seemed normal. “They’re inside,” she muttered, wishing she could crawl into the nearby well. She could only imagine how she looked—wild-haired, wild-eyed, worn-out and shabby. Not that she should care one whit what Sam McBriar thought about her appearance.

      “You’re pretty,” the little girl said, followed by a toothless grin. Then she turned to Sam and said, “Isn’t she pretty, Daddy?”

      Oh, Lord. This child was looking for confirmation from the wrong person.

      “Yeah, she is,” Sam responded, surprising the fool out of Savannah.

      She took a sip of coffee to soothe her parched throat. “You’re very pretty, too, and you must be Jamie,” she said, offering up a smile.

      “You’re Savannah and you used to be Daddy’s girlfriend.”

      Luckily she hadn’t taken another drink of coffee, otherwise it might have ended up all over the front of Uncle Bill’s overalls.

      “That’s right, Jamie,” May answered when Savannah didn’t. “But that was quite a little while ago.”

      “Before he met my mommy?” Jamie asked.

      “A few years before,” Savannah said, although that wasn’t quite accurate. Darlene had had her eye on Sam since junior high.

      Seemingly satisfied with the explanation, Jamie scooted off the swing and climbed into—of all people— Ruth Greer’s lap. And Ruth, who only moments before looked as if her face might crack if she moved her lips, gave Jamie the sweetest of smiles. “Are you sad, Ruthie?” Jamie asked.

      “A little,” Ruth said. “But Floyd wouldn’t want us to be sad. If he were here, he’d tell us to wake up—”

      “And enjoy the day,” Jamie finished. “I bet he’s saying the same thing in heaven.”

      Ruth brushed a stray hair from Jamie’s forehead. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      Jamie slid from Ruth’s lap and took her hand. “Can we go work on the quilt, Ruthie?”

      Savannah recalled the wedding-ring quilt she’d worked on with her mother when she was a little older than Jamie. The quilt she’d refused to work on after they’d moved to Placid.

      “Maybe we should go home and let Ruth rest, Jamie,” Sam interjected.

      “Nonsense,” СКАЧАТЬ