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Sadie rested her head on the seat and stared out over the water. Moonlight sparkled there, gentle waves lapped. “Did you ever wonder if the story was true?” she asked, her voice soft to match the mood and the night.
“What story?”
“About Miranda Fairchild and Samuel Garth.”
“The ghosts,” Truman deadpanned. “Some old tale about a couple of ancient people who killed themselves. I don’t know what it is chicks like about that story.”
Sadie sighed. “You never got laid out here, did you?”
“I got laid out here plenty, and I never had to resort to ghost stories to get what I wanted.”
Of course he hadn’t. Gorgeous football hero with a killer smile, all Truman had to do was grin, and he got whatever he wanted. It was so unfair.
“It’s a beautiful story.” Heavens, she was tired. But this was nice, resting her head against the seat, looking out over the water, talking to Truman.
“Okay, convince me. What happened, exactly?” Truman prodded.
Sadie took her eyes from the moonlit water, for a moment. No, he wasn’t teasing her. At least, he looked serious. Maybe it was a fanciful story, more legend than fact, but there was something mesmerizing about the tale. At least, there once had been. Living with Spencer had killed most of Sadie’s fanciful notions about love and happily ever after. There was no forever. A man would always get tired of a woman. He’d get bored and go elsewhere looking for love, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy.
Reality was harsh. No wonder a touch of fantasy, a tale of romance, seemed so attractive at the moment.
“When Samuel was called to the war with those nasty Yankees, he and Miranda wanted to get married.” Not a wise choice, in Sadie’s estimation, but she tried to push away her own bad experience and just enjoy the story. “They wanted to be together before he left, but Miranda’s father said she was too young. She was sixteen. Samuel was a couple of years older. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe. Since her father refused to allow them to marry, Miranda swore she’d wait for Samuel. She said she’d wait forever, if she had to.”
Truman shook his head in disbelief, and Sadie returned her gaze to the water. “So Samuel went to war,” she said softly. “You know how it was. They all thought the unpleasantness with the Yankees would last weeks. Months, maybe. But Samuel was gone for years. When word came that he’d died in battle, Miranda very calmly left her house, walked to the lake, and drowned herself.”
“Stupid,” Truman muttered.
“You do not have a romantic bone in your body.”
“Only the one.”
Sadie sighed, holding in a laugh. “You’re hopeless.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Anyway,” Sadie continued, determined to finish. “Grieving and desolate, Miranda drowned. A year to the day later, Samuel comes home expecting to find his love waiting for him. He hadn’t been killed in battle after all.”
“Obviously.”
Sadie cleared her throat to chastise him for interrupting. “When he discovers what happened to Miranda he walks to the lake, swims out as far as he can, and then goes under, never to be seen again.”
“He killed himself, just like she did. I still say that’s not…”
“Would you hush,” Sadie said, laughing lightly. “You’re ruining the story.”
“Excuse me,” he said insincerely.
“After that night, it was said that sometimes when there was a full moon people would see them in the lake and on the shore, making love at last, together forever.”
Forever. Nice idea. Too bad it was a crock.
“And this ridiculous story actually gets people laid.” Truman shook his head.
“Oh, you know that tale as well as I do.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to hear you tell it.” He smiled softly. “So, who told it to you?”
Sadie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Jason Davenport. Prom night, thirteen years ago.”
“Jason Davenport?”
Jason Davenport. Running back for the high-school football team. First baseman for the baseball team. Black hair, green eyes, and oh, he had a really great voice. She could still hear him telling that story to her, reminding her that there wouldn’t always be a tomorrow, that they’d better take what they wanted tonight. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t even know you dated that guy.”
“Just a couple of times. Then he dumped me.” The fuzzy memories faded. As soon as Jason realized he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, he’d quit calling. Jerk. She should have learned her lesson then.
“He’s still around, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he’s some kind of artist or something,” Truman said grudgingly. “You actually…” he stopped, choked on the word.
“It’s ancient history,” Sadie said, not wanting to answer him either way. Oh, it was so quiet out here! Quiet and beautiful, peaceful in a way she had forgotten. Gentle wind lapped at the water and ruffled the leaves of trees surrounding the lake. If the breeze hit the trees just right, it sounded as if a woman moaned. Soft. Happy. Miranda. Sadie took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the lake.
Okay, so Garth wasn’t a complete loss. It had Aunt Lillian’s biscuits, Miranda Lake and Truman. Individually they weren’t much, but when you put them all together…maybe it was a nice place to be, for a while.
Chapter 3
She hadn’t slept this deeply in months. Years, maybe! Sadie sighed and fought the awareness that crept upon her. She didn’t want to wake up. She needed more of this dreamless sleep. The quiet. The warmth. The rest for her bone-weary body and agitated mind.
A soft spring wind ruffled the leaves of a tree, water lapped. Truman shifted his body and dropped a hand into her hair. His thigh was her pillow, and there was a little spot of drool, right there on the denim that was stretched over that thigh.
“Oh, crap,” Sadie muttered, immediately awake and shooting up into a semi-sitting position. Her fingers rubbed against the wet spot on Truman’s thigh, trying to erase the evidence. All her efforts managed to do was wake Truman.
For a moment he smiled at her, then he realized where they were and his smile faded. “Damn,” he muttered.
“Exactly.” Sadie straightened the strap of her bra. Everything she wore was twisted and misshapen at the moment. “What time is it?”
Truman checked his watch, hitting a button on the side to light the face. He squinted, blinked twice. “Four-thirty.”
Almost instinctively, she reached out and slapped Truman on the arm. “Why did you let me sleep in your pickup truck until four-thirty? Jennifer will have the whole town out looking for us. I was supposed to be home by ten.”
“Ten?” Truman shook his head. “You’re thirty years old, for God’s sake. Why did you have to be home by ten?”
“Almost thirty,” she corrected. “And I said I’d be home by ten so Jennifer could go out.” It really wasn’t a disaster. Jen would survive. Sadie ran her fingers through her hair. So much for her careful attempts at styling the mop. It was going every which a way, as it usually did in the morning. “Go, go,” she said with a wave of her hand.
Truman started the engine and put the truck in Reverse, yawning and then working a crick out of his neck. A very fine neck, she had to admit. Sadie stared at him. So, this was what Truman McCain looked like in the morning. Rumpled. Sexy as hell. It just wasn’t fair.
“Why did you let me sleep?” she asked, trying for anger but delivering sheer frustration.
“You were exhausted. I figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.” Truman steered the truck down the narrow drive that would take them back to the main road, headlights dancing in the morning dark.
“A few minutes?”
He grinned, the rat. “Then I fell asleep. Long day. Sorry.”
Sadie ran her fingers through her hair again, trying to tame the curls. Four-thirty. Almost time for Mary Beth and Aunt Lillian and Bowie to get to work. No one else would be out at this hour of the morning but for a few fishermen whose minds were on bait and boats and elusive bass. She could sneak up to her room and no one would ever be the wiser, except for Jennifer. And Jen could be persuaded to keep her mouth shut. Blackmail between cousins was a wonderful thing.
Truman glanced over and down and grinned sleepily. “Found it.”
“What?”
“You said I wouldn’t.”
Sadie realized he was staring at her mostly bare leg and her thigh holster. She yanked her skirt down to cover the leather and the pistol housed there. “Drop me off at the side door of the lobby.”
“Where no one can see you from the street?” Truman teased.
“Exactly.” She shot him an accusing glance. “And stop smiling! This isn’t funny.”
“Sure it is,” he said half-heartedly.
“I should’ve met you at the restaurant,” Sadie said beneath her breath. “I have my own car. I could have gone straight home when dinner was finished and this never would’ve happened.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Truman asked, his Southern accent deepening as he teased her.
It wasn’t a long trip from Miranda Lake to the Yellow Rose Motel. Seven minutes, tops. Ten at what passed as rush hour in the small town. There was no traffic this early in the morning, but Truman insisted on driving the speed limit, which was ridiculously slow. Finally, Sadie saw the motel sign. Home, for the time being. The neon sign for Lillian’s Café wasn’t lit up yet. That meant Lillian wasn’t in. Good. Sadie figured she had about two minutes to make it to the safety of her room without being seen.
Truman pulled into the parking lot, and Sadie’s heart sank. There sat a patrol car, lights flashing. A young deputy leaned against the fender, taking notes and nodding his head, while Jennifer spoke and gestured wildly with her hands. Either someone else had gotten themselves killed at the Yellow Rose or Jennifer had actually called the sheriff’s office to report her cousin missing.
Instead of driving to the side door as Sadie as asked—which would have been a waste of time, given the circumstances—Truman pulled his truck alongside the patrol car and rolled down his window.
“Bryce,” he said with a nod of his head. “What’s up?”
Bryce, who even though he was at least six feet tall looked to be about twelve years old, snapped his notebook shut. “I was just telling Jennifer that I couldn’t fill out a missing persons report on her cousin just yet.” He leaned down a little bit farther, set his eyes on Sadie, and grinned. “You must be Sadie Mae.” He glanced at Jennifer. “I told you if your cousin was with Truman she’d be just fine.”
Jennifer crossed her arms and glared at Sadie through the windshield, a picture of pouting petulance in her tight jeans and cropped shirt that showed off her belly button and the shiny silver ring that sparkled there. Sadie stared at the piercing for a moment. Didn’t it hurt?
Truman waggled his fingers at the young deputy. “I think you can turn off your lights now. The emergency is over.”
The kid reached into his patrol car and shut off the flashing lights, but not before accidentally giving the sirens a quick wail.
So much for a quick, quiet return home. Sadie threw open her door and stepped into the parking lot. Immediately, Truman killed the engine and followed suit.
She stood and looked at him over the hood of his truck. “You really don’t have to escort me to the door,” she said dryly.
He continued to walk around the truck, limping more than usual. Sleeping in the truck couldn’t be good for his knee. Dammit, she refused, absolutely refused, to worry about his knee like she cared about him and whether or not he hurt.
“It was fun,” he said. “We’ll have to do it again.”
Sadie shook her head. No way. This one evening had been bad enough, and there would be no repeat performance.
Jennifer stalked toward her. “How could you do this to me? I was worried sick. Ten. You said ten!”
“Sorry,” Sadie said, anxious to make her getaway before anyone else saw her.
“Sorry,” Jennifer said, once again crossing her arms across her chest. “That hardly seems sufficient.”
Bryce and Truman both laughed.
Sadie stared at Truman, at his sleepy blue eyes that had an unexpected crinkle at the corner. “What’s so funny?”
“You don’t know how many nights we went out looking for your little cousin before she turned eighteen.”
“That was different,” Jennifer said, blushing a bright red. “Sadie’s old enough to know better!”
Jennifer’s eyes dropped slightly, and her mouth pursed in obvious disapproval. Unable to help herself, Sadie followed those eyes. Right next to the little slobber spot on Truman’s jeans was a smudge of red lipstick. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she said softly.
Jennifer shook her head like a wearied parent and raised her accusing eyes to Sadie. She continued to shake her head. “You’re missing an earring.”
Both hands flew up to check earlobes. Sure enough, the left lobe was bare. “I can’t believe I lost one of those diamond studs.”
“I’m pretty sure you had them both when we left the restaurant,” Truman said calmly. “It’s probably in the truck.”
“You can look for it later,” Sadie said, backing up a step toward the hotel. “No rush.” The earrings had cost her a small fortune, a gift to herself when she’d gotten her last raise, but no amount of money was worth prolonging this torture.
But Bryce was already leaning into the driver’s side of the truck, dutifully checking the seat cushions. He found the earring in a matter of seconds. “Here it is,” he said, coming up with something in his hand. “Half of it, anyway.”
The good half, Sadie saw as the young deputy offered her the diamond on the palm of his hand.
“It was wedged there in the cushion of the, uh, driver’s seat.”
The earring had probably come loose while she’d slept with her head in Truman’s lap. Jennifer and Bryce obviously thought other things had been going on, in the, uh, driver’s seat.
“Thank you.” Sadie saw no reason to offer explanations. Anything she said would just sound like a pathetic excuse at this point.
Truman came toward her, favoring his right leg, smiling like this was all so very amusing. He looked freshly tumbled, warm and sleepy and…happy. If she looked anything like this, no wonder Bryce grinned like an idiot and Jen frowned and shook her head.
“It was great,” Truman said softly, but plenty loud enough for the others to hear.
“Nothing was great,” Sadie insisted. “There was no great.”
“How about Friday?” he asked, his voice a touch lower than before.
“Not on your life,” she whispered.
A car door slammed. Mary Beth had arrived at the coffee shop. The waitress glanced at the commotion in the parking lot, smiled and headed for the front door with her key in hand. Bowie was right beside her. They whispered and giggled as they entered the café.
