not a child, Savannah. Leave.
Clutching her purse to her chest, she simply said, “Goodbye, Sam,” then brushed past him and rushed out into the humid June evening.
As she strode across the gravel parking lot toward her car, she heard the all-too-familiar voice call out, “Walking away again, Savannah?”
Ignoring the condemnation in his tone, Savannah quickened her pace. But against her better judgment, she paused to take another backward glance and discovered Sam leaning against the bed of a shiny black truck parked near the entrance, arms folded across his chest, looking as if he expected her to run back to him.
When her gaze again connected with his, Savannah’s pulse beat a staccato rhythm in her ears as her nerves unraveled like an old woven rug.
What was wrong with her? She was behaving like some kid who’d gone to see the latest slasher movie, afraid to witness the terror on the screen, yet unable to resist some primitive calling to do that very thing. To face the fear. In this case, the man and the memories.
As she climbed into the safety of her sedan, Savannah attributed the unwelcome reaction to the remnants of an idealistic teenage perception of love. After all, she’d worked so hard to ignore those times when a warm breeze would blow across her face and remind her of him. She only needed to recall his parting words all those years ago to ground herself in reality.
Go on and leave, Savannah. I hope to God you never come back.
But she had come back—only to discover that if a person didn’t kill all those feelings for an old love, they would remain dormant until one summer day years later, they broke through like spring grass, changing your perspective. Interrupting your comfortable life. Again breaking your heart.
Surrounded by tattered recollections of the town where she’d spent her formative years, among the place of shattered dreams, that realization pummeled Savannah like an iron fist. And so did awareness that her greatest fear had come to pass. Even after a dozen years, Samuel Jamison McBriar, her first love—her first lover—could still affect her.
AS IF TIME HAD DONE AN about-face, Sam watched her drive away again, leaving him standing in front of the diner to deal with a truckload of recollections and more than a few regrets.
He had no one but himself to blame for the sudden shock of seeing Savannah Greer. He could’ve driven past the parking lot when he’d caught sight of the Illinois plates. He could’ve put off the encounter until he paid his respects at her father’s funeral tomorrow. He could’ve waited one more day to satisfy his curiosity over how much she’d changed. The answer to that—not much. She was probably a few pounds heavier, not a bad thing considering she’d been rail-thin as a teenager. Definitely as pretty as he remembered. Her dark brown eyes looked the same and her hair was still golden blond, but not as long as before. He’d bet his last ten acres she still had a stubborn streak, one of the qualities that had attracted him when he’d been a sucker for girls who could hold their own in a battle of wills.
So, lost in his thoughts, Sam didn’t notice a car had pulled up in the adjacent space until he heard “Daddy!” followed by the sound of six-year-old feet pounding across the gravel. He barely had time to brace himself before his daughter threw her arms around his waist with enough force that he took a step backward to maintain his balance.
“Whoa there, Joe,” he said as he lifted her into his arms and tugged at her dark brown ponytail.
She popped a kiss on his chin and grinned, displaying the blank space where her top two teeth had been the last time he’d seen her a month ago. “I’m not Joe, Daddy. I’m Jamie.”
“I know that,” he said as he set her back on her feet. “I’m the one who named you, kiddo. And it looks like you left a couple of your choppers at home.”
She touched her bare gums. “The tooth fairy brought me five bucks, Daddy.”
“Which she spent on candy even though I strictly forbade it.”
Sam turned toward the sound of the voice belonging to the other blonde in his life. Correction. The second blonde who’d left him. But when it came to his ex-wife’s parting, he’d played a major role. “Hey, Darlene. I thought you weren’t going to be here for another hour.”
She set a miniature purple suitcase down onto the ground at his boots. “From the minute she climbed out of bed this morning, Miss Jamie kept bugging me, so we started out early. Luckily I spotted your truck before we drove all the way out to the farm.”
Jamie tugged on his hand to get his attention. “Can I get a chocolate shake, Daddy? I had my dinner.”
Normally he’d give his permission without a thought, but he’d learned to defer to her mother to keep the peace. “It’s okay with me, as long as your mom says it’s okay.”
Darlene waved in the direction of the diner. “Fine. Your sweet tooth is going to be your dad’s problem for the next few days.”
Sam caught Jamie’s arm before she took off. “Sit by the window so I can see you, and don’t talk to strangers.” As if that were going to happen. Strangers were a rare occurrence in Placid, but he preferred to err on the side of caution. “I’ll be in as soon as I say goodbye to your mom.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she called out, then headed at a dead run into Stan’s, slamming the door behind her.
Once he made sure Jamie had followed orders and climbed into the designated booth, Sam turned back to Darlene. “I could’ve driven to Memphis and picked her up.”
“I told you I planned to stop by Mom’s and Dad’s, remember?”
Right now Sam had trouble remembering anything except seeing Savannah again and the lingering bitterness mixed with the same stupid spark of lust.
“Are you okay, Sam?” Darlene asked when he failed to respond.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because when we pulled up, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
Not so far from the truth. A ghost from his past. She’d come and gone so quickly, he wasn’t sure she hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. “I just ran into Savannah Greer. She’s in town for her father’s funeral.”
Darlene’s expression went cold. “Well, that explains a lot.”
He didn’t have to ask what she’d meant by that. During their years together, she’d often accused him of carrying a torch for his former high school sweetheart. Not true. Savannah’s disregard still burned like a brand, and ultimately the end of his and Darlene’s marriage had come when they’d both discovered they made better friends than spouses.
Recognizing a subject change would prevent more speculation, Sam pointed at Darlene’s swollen belly. “Are you sure that baby’s not due until October?”
She laid her palm on her abdomen and scowled. “That’s exactly what my husband said to me last night. Today he’s not walking straight.”
Sam laughed. “Tell Brent he has my sympathy, and warn him that your mood doesn’t get any better until about thirty minutes after you deliver. But you do have some fine moments when your hormones kick in.”
She
