His grin was quick and bright. “Cool.”
He raced off, leaving her standing alone in the path. She sat on a fallen log, closed her eyes and emptied her mind.
So much tried to intrude—memories, mistakes, doubts. She willed them away, concentrating on the quiet and that place in her own head that was safe from worry.
It was a trick she’d learned as a child, when the confusion of life had been too overwhelming to face. There had been long rides in a rattling pickup, endless hours in smelly paddocks, loud voices, the gnaw of real hunger, the cries of fretful babies, the chill of under-heated rooms. They could all be faced, again and again, if she could just escape into herself for a few minutes.
Decisions became clearer, confidence could be rebuilt.
As fascinated as if he’d come across some mythical creature in the woods, Jared watched her. That exotic face was utterly peaceful, her body utterly still. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a butterfly or a bright bird land on her shoulder.
These woods had always been his. His personal place. His intimate place. Yet seeing her here didn’t feel like an intrusion. It seemed expected, as if in some part of his mind he’d known he’d find her here if he just knew when to look.
He realized he was afraid to blink, as if in that fraction of a second she might vanish, never to be found again.
She opened her eyes slowly and looked directly into his.
For a moment, neither of them could speak. Savannah felt the breath rush into her throat and stick there. She was used to men staring at her. They had done so even when she was a child. It annoyed, amused or interested her by turns. But it had never left her speechless, as this one long, unblinking stare out of eyes the color of summer grass did.
He moved first, stepping closer. And the world started again.
“I hate stating the obvious.” Because he wanted to—and because his knees were just a little weak—he sat on the log beside her. “But you are staggering.”
Steadier now, she inclined her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be plowing a field or something?”
“Shane’s gotten proprietary about his tractor over the years. Aren’t you supposed to be going to a ball game?”
“It’s not for a couple hours.” Savannah took a deep breath, relieved that it went smoothly in and out. “So, who’s trespassing, you or me?”
“Technically, both of us.” Jared took out a slim cigar and found a match. “This is my brother’s property.”
“I assumed the farm belonged to all of you.”
“It does.” He took a drag, watched the smoke drift into the sunlight. “This strip here is Rafe’s land.”
“Rafe?” Her brows shot up. “Don’t tell me there are more of you.”
“Four altogether.” He tried to smother his surprise when she plucked the cigar out of his fingers and helped herself to a casual drag.
“Four MacKades,” she mused. “It’s a wonder the town survived. And none of the women managed to rope you in?”
“Rafe’s married. I was.”
“Oh.” She handed him back the cigar. “And now you’re back on the farm.”
“That right. Actually, if I hadn’t waffled, I’d be living in your cabin.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. My place in town’s on the market and I’m looking for something around here. But you already had a contract on your place by the time I started looking.” He picked up a stick and drew in the dirt. “The farm,” he said, sketching lines. “Rafe’s. The cabin.”
Savannah pursed her lips at the triangle. “Hmm… And the MacKades would have owned a nice chunk of the mountain. You missed your shot, Lawyer MacKade.”
“So it seems, Ms. Morningstar.”
“I suppose you can call me Savannah, since we’re neighbors.” Taking the stick from him, she tapped the point of the triangle. “This place. It’s the stone house you can see on the hill from the road into town?”
“That’s right. The old Barlow place.”
“It’s haunted.”
“You’ve heard the stories?”
“No.” Interested, she looked over at him. “Are there stories?”
It only took him a moment to see she wasn’t playing games. “Why did you say it was haunted?”
“You can feel it,” she said simply. “Just like these woods. They’re restless.” When he continued to stare at her, she smiled. “Indian blood. I’m part Apache. My father liked to claim he was full-blooded, but…” She let words trail off, looked away.
“But?”
“There’s Italian, Mexican, even a little French mixed in.”
“Your mother?”
“Anglo and Mex. She was a barrel racer. Rodeo champion. She was in a car accident when I was five. I don’t remember her very clearly.”
“Both of mine are gone, too.” Companionably he offered her the cigar. “It’s tough.”
She drew in smoke. “This one shouldn’t have been, for me. I lost my father ten years ago, when he booted me out. I was sixteen, and pregnant with Bryan.”
“I’m sorry, Savannah.”
“Hey, I got by.” She passed back the cigar. She didn’t know why she’d told him, except that it was quiet here, and he listened well. “The thing is, Jared, I’ve been thinking more about my father in the last day or so than I have in years. You can’t imagine what eight thousand dollars would have meant to me ten years ago. Five.” With a shrug, she pushed back her hair. “Hell, there was a time eight dollars would have made the difference between— Well, it doesn’t matter.”
Without thinking, he laid a hand over hers. “Sure it does.”
She frowned down at their hands, then slowly, casually, slipped hers away and stood. “The thing is, I have Bryan to think of. So I’ll talk this over with him.”
“Let me state the obvious again. You’ve done a terrific job raising your son.”
She smiled. “We’ve raised each other. But thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
“Savannah.” He rose, faced her on the path. “This is a good town, mostly a kind one. No one has to be alone here unless they want to.”
“That’s something else I have to think about. I’ll see you around, Lawyer MacKade.”
Jared hadn’t been to a Little League game in years. When he pulled up at the park just outside of town and absorbed the scents and sounds, he wondered why. The single swatch of wooden stands was crowded and noisy. And kids who weren’t on the field were running and racing behind the low chain-link fence or wrestling under the shade of the stands.
The concession stand drew others, with the smell of steaming hot dogs and sloppy joes.
He pulled his car behind the long line of others along the bumpy shoulder of the narrow road and walked across the uneven grass. He had an eye peeled for Savannah, but it was little Connor Dolin who caught his gaze.
The pale-haired boy was waiting quietly in line for food, staring at his feet as a couple of burly older kids harassed him.
“Hey, it’s nerd brain Dolin. How’s your old man like his cell?”
Connor stood stoically as they bumped and shoved