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“I’m afraid she was too unhappy during her marriage to handle anyone.”
“Unhappy? My aunt said that she and Trey were deliriously happy.”
“Did she?” Lydia’s voice was gentle. “Well, perhaps that’s what she wanted to believe. I saw them both from the time they came back to this house. Oh, Trey put on a good front. He’d defied his father at last and gotten away with it, I suppose he thought. Grace knew better. She knew their marriage was destined to fail from the moment they got here.”
The rest of Lydia’s tour went over Corrie’s head as she struggled with that careless comment. When she was finally out in the garden again, she walked slowly toward Baxter’s house, mind preoccupied.
Aunt Ella had emphasized one thing clearly, in spite of her faltering speech after the stroke—how happy Gracie had been. That had been the only thing that reconciled her to the sudden marriage that she knew would take Gracie away from her.
Poor Aunt Ella. She’d had no one else. Her parents dead, her only brother killed in Vietnam, leaving his daughter for Ella to raise when his wife drifted off into the hippie subculture. Ella had given all her love to Gracie, and later, to Gracie’s daughter,
Now Lydia claimed the love Aunt Ella saw between Gracie and Trey wasn’t true—or at least, that her mother’s happiness had vanished by the time she arrived in Savannah. What would it have taken them to drive from Wyoming to Savannah? Three days, four? How could all that newlywed joy have been gone already?
“Ms. Grant?” Mrs. Andrews stepped out of the garden door, shading her eyes with one hand. “There was a message for you. Mr. Courtland’s secretary called, and they need you to come to their office right away.”
She didn’t answer until she’d covered the space between them, having no wish to advertise her business to anyone who happened to be around.
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“No, ma’am. Just the secretary, saying please stop by this morning. Do you want me to call a taxi for you?”
“How far away is it?”
“Not that far.” Lucas’s voice had her spinning around to face him. He stood on the path that led to his house. “I’ll walk with you and show you the way.”
Another tête-à-tête with Lucas was the last thing she wanted, with the memory of the previous night’s emotion fresh in her mind. His face showed no discomfort at all. Had he forgotten so quickly?
“Thanks anyway. I’m sure I can find the office on my own if Mrs. Andrews will give me directions.” But Mrs. Andrews had disappeared back into the house, apparently feeling that her duty was done.
“You wouldn’t want me to think you don’t enjoy my company, would you?” Lucas touched her arm, gesturing toward the gate in the wall that led onto the street. “I’ll show you a bit of Savannah while we walk.”
Her impulse was to prolong the argument, but that would make his presence into too big a deal. Instead she stepped through the gate and onto the sidewalk, determined to ignore him as much as possible.
Then she paused. “Maybe I should change clothes. I keep forgetting that you people dress a lot more formally than I’m used to.”
Lucas’s amber gaze slid from her violet challis top to her white slacks. “You look fine,” he said, closing the gate behind them. “What do you think of Savannah so far? Or have you been here before?”
“I’ve never been east until this trip. All I know comes from the guidebook I read on the plane.” They crossed the street to the square. “I did read about the squares, of course.”
The city’s founder had laid it out around a series of squares, with houses, public buildings and churches grouped around them—quiet oases in the midst of a busy city, the guidebook had said. Now she understood what the book had meant. Tree branches met overhead, and the traffic suddenly seemed faraway. She and Lucas might have been alone in the country.
Lucas gestured toward a row of white brick town houses, each with an intricate wrought-iron railing leading up to a glossy black door. “The wrought iron is characteristic. Kind of reminds you of New Orleans, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Corrie smiled, realizing they’d embarked on yet another fencing match. “I’ve never been farther south than St. Louis. As I think I mentioned.”
His eyes acknowledged the point. “Savannah is one of the most livable cities in the country and one of the most historic. We aim to keep it that way.”
“We?”
“We, as in native Savannahians. You won’t find people more devoted to their heritage. It takes quite a few generations to really belong.”
A point to him. Obviously she would never belong, any more than her mother had. She thought again of what Lydia had said, realizing she was beginning to feel protective of that young Gracie, as if she were a younger sister instead of her mother.
“You can’t walk a step in Savannah without tripping over history and legend, so mixed up together you can’t tell which is which.” Lucas had continued his own train of thought. He stopped in front of the monument in the center of the square. “A case in point.”
Corrie looked up at the city’s founder, James Oglethorpe, sword in hand, cast in bronze.
“Facing the enemy.” Lucas’s voice was soft in her ear.
“What?” For an instant she thought he meant her, as if the founder of Savannah himself would take a sword to this interloper.
“Oglethorpe. He’s facing south, because his enemies were the Spaniards in Florida. What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing.” She shouldn’t let this get to her. “Thanks for the history lesson.”
“Any time, sugar. There’s nothing a native enjoys more than talking about his city.”
She looked at him, curious at the feeling in his voice. “You sound as if you’re in love with it.”
“Not it. Her. Savannah is always a female. A faded, genteel Southern lady with just enough eccentricity to make her charming.”
Not the place for a forthright Westerner, obviously. Maybe that was why her mother had been unhappy. She’d known from the beginning she’d never belong.
Corrie turned away, and a flight of pigeons took off from the square with a rustle of wings. If she let Lucas make her uncomfortable with every other word, she was in for a very long visit.
“How much farther is it?” Maybe she should have argued a bit more about coming alone. She could have walked along and indulged her own thoughts, instead of being constantly on her guard.
“It’s this way.” Lucas took her hand as if she were a child who needed guiding. No, not a child, she corrected. There was nothing parental about the way his fingers interlaced with hers. She pulled her hand free.
Lucas smiled. “The office is on Broughton Street. That was the main shopping street of town before the malls wiped it out. It’s starting to come back now.”
When they’d walked another block to the corner, she saw what he meant. The busy commercial street had a few empty storefronts, but it also boasted the sort of shops usually found in upscale malls. People thronged the sidewalks.
“Is Saturday a big shopping day?” She dodged a large man with a camera who walked backward, focusing.
“Tourists. It’s June, and they’re out in force. A bus must have just unloaded.” He nodded to the crosswalk. “We cross here, and then we should be clear of them. Courtland’s office is just down the street.”
However, the mob of tourists had apparently decided to go in the same direction, gathering ready to cross as soon as the light changed.
Corrie balanced on the edge of the curb. Even the busy shopping area had its Southern charm, with the gold-embossed plate glass windows of what had probably been old-fashioned department stores now displaying the latest in sportswear.
A bus whizzed by, close enough to the curb to send a blast of hot air in her face. She tried to step back, but people formed a solid mass around her, as if they were afraid they’d never get across the street unless they were first in line.
Annoyed, she turned to look for Lucas. The crowd pushed forward, catching her off balance. She threw out her arms, trying to right herself, just as a shiny sports car accelerated, the driver obviously intent on making it through on the yellow light.
One instant she was safe, her foot hugging the curb. The next a strong shove in her back sent her plunging helplessly into the street, directly into the path of the oncoming car.
FOUR
Adrenaline pumped through Lucas. He plunged past the figures between him and the street. The acrid scent of burning rubber, the shriek of brakes. No time to think, just act. He grabbed Corrie’s hand and yanked her out of the street and into his arms.
For an instant longer rational thought evaded him. He held her close, rooted to the pavement. The car rushed by, so close it seemed to touch them, horn blaring as if Corrie, not the driver, had been at fault.
He managed to take a breath. That had been close. Too close. He took a step back from Corrie, his hands still supporting her. “Are you all right?”
Around them the crowd, briefly interested, briefly concerned, moved on. Corrie stared up at him, eyes dark with shock. She shook her head, as if to orient herself, and the shock faded.
“I’m fine.” She moved to free herself of his grip, but he held on.
“Not fine. Not yet, anyway. Come over here and sit down for a second.” He steered her to a wrought-iron bench in front of an antique shop.
She sank down abruptly, and he suspected her legs were still shaking. Small wonder. He didn’t feel all that well himself, come to think of it. If he’d been a little farther away, he’d never have reached her in time.
The thought sent a surprising wave of anger rushing through him. “Don’t they teach you how to cross streets out in the boondocks?”
She just looked at him, her eyes regaining focus. “Someone pushed me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The anger accelerated.
“I’m not.” Answering anger brought a flush to her cheeks, chasing away the strain. “I tell you, someone pushed me off the curb.”
“The crowd—” he began, but she cut off his words with a scornful look.
“I know the difference between a crowd moving and a hand in the middle of my back.” She winced, as if she could still feel it. “Someone put his hand between my shoulder blades and shoved me off the curb.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with her certainty. On the face of it, the thing seemed impossible. People didn’t go around the streets of Savannah shoving total strangers in front of cars.
And then he realized that she was looking at him with suspicion.
“And you think it was me?” In an instant the anger took over again. “I assure you, I don’t dislike you that much.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You want to get rid of me.”
“You’ve got me there.” The anger vanished, replaced by a small measure of amusement. “But I’d like to see you gone, not dead. I’m neither so stupid nor so impetuous that I’d try a stunt like that.”
Corrie frowned at him for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Okay. I guess I buy that. You’re not stupid. And so far I haven’t seen anything impetuous about you.” She made that sound like a fault.
“Trust me,” he said, touching her hand lightly. “My methods are far more orthodox.”
For an instant his gaze seemed to tangle with hers. Then she snatched her hand away as if his touch had burned.
She focused on the crowds passing by, her breath still uneven. “Nobody reacted much to my sudden plunge into the street. At home something like that would be a nine days’ wonder.”
“Savannah is used to eccentrics. If you decided to walk on your hands down the sidewalk, folks would just smile and say good morning.”
“Maybe if you did it. Me, I’m an outsider. They’d say I was crazy, not eccentric.”
“You may have a point. Shall we put it to the test?” He gestured toward the sidewalk.
Corrie’s smile banished the lingering shadow from her eyes. “Not today, thanks. I’d better get on my way to the lawyer’s office.” She rose.
He stood next to her, hand under her elbow to assure himself that she wasn’t going to stumble. “If you’d rather put it off, I’m sure they’d understand.”
“Why? Just because somebody tried to push me under a car doesn’t mean I’m incapable of walking down the street.”
“Do you intend to tell Courtland and Broadbent that?” He frowned down at her, wondering what Baxter’s conservative attorneys would make of her claim.
“Not at the moment. After all, I didn’t see who pushed me.” Her gaze held a challenge.
“I thought we agreed I didn’t.” He walked beside her to the corner. If Corrie felt anything when they stopped at the curb, she didn’t show it.
The light changed, and they started across the street. She didn’t speak until they were safely on the other side. “I agreed you wouldn’t try to get rid of me that way.” Her tone seemed to reserve judgment on what other ways he might try. “I’m not so sure when it comes to your covering up for someone else.”
He’d like to respond with righteous indignation, but he couldn’t. He might not be either impetuous or stupid, but he couldn’t vouch for Deidre and Ainsley, not the way they’d been behaving lately.
“If you’re talking about Deidre and Ainsley, I can assure you I’d have noticed them if they were anywhere near you. They weren’t.” He kept his voice carefully even.
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for that, won’t I?”
“Corrie…” He touched her arm, stopping her brisk stride down the sidewalk.
“What?” She swung toward him.
What could he say? She was right—he did want to be rid of her. And he couldn’t really trust the behavior of anyone else in the family.
He gestured, pulling the door open for her. “The office is here. I don’t suppose you want me to accompany you inside, so I’ll wait and walk you home.”
“That’s not necessary.” Her chin came up at the suggestion that she might need an escort.
“Maybe not, but I’m waiting.” He smiled at her baffled glare. “Take your time.”
She whirled and stalked inside, letting the door bang behind her.
He turned his back on the plate glass window that showed the outer office of Courtland and Broadbent, surveying the street. Traffic flowed by, tourists thronged. Nothing out of the ordinary.
It had been an accident. What else could it have been? It was ridiculous to go putting familiar faces on lurking dangers. When Corrie came back, he’d do his best to convince her that it had been an accident. The last thing they needed was to have her run to Baxter with tales of assault.
He didn’t have to wait long. He heard the door swing and turned. Corrie came down the single step, her expression—what? Curiously blank, that was the closest he could come.
“Corrie? What’s wrong?” He took her arm, and his touch seemed to recall her.
She focused on him, frowning. “The lawyers. Neither of them is in today.”
“Then why—”
“The receptionist says no one from the office called asking for me. The message was a fake.”
“Well, that didn’t accomplish much.” Corrie frowned at the stout figure of Mrs. Andrews, retreating back to her kitchen domain.
